Enter the Death Korps
by Steaming
Summary: The Death Korps of Krieg are the ultimate contradiction. A people with a death wish in an empire addicted to survival. Colonel Voltke is the master of cold command; his icy leadership and crack regiment fight an urban war against ork defenders. These men are born to die... after they've done their duty, of course.
1. Chapter 1

"What's your regiment's situation, Colonel?" Major General Hikes asked from across the desk.  
Voltke knew the general hadn't met many Krieger officers. It must be with a sense of fascination that the general looked upon him now. The signature Death Korps rebreather and helmet in his lap, greatcoat with its shiny epaulettes, polished breastplate and high-cut boots. With laspistol in its brown leather holster and sabre at his side he must look quite impressive to men not accustomed to the Krieger way of life.  
"12 line companies of infantry. Each company has ten infantry platoons, a heavy weapons platoon and two squads of grenadiers. 11 mortars, 9 lascannons and 20 to 25 other heavy weapons: autocannons, heavy bolters and stubbers. Seven hundred and fifty men in each company, all told." Voltke replied, grimly. For an infantry regiment without much integrated motorised or mechanised support, they were a seriously capable regiment. Their lack of mobility was made up by sheer weight of numbers and heavy weapons.  
"Additionally we have an engineer company. Another 500 men, useful in clearing obstacles and breaching defensive lines." Voltke finished.  
The general raised his eyebrows, giving Voltke a fair look.  
"That's a large regiment. I'll put them to use, too. You know what my situation is; they told you?" He asked Voltke.  
"No." Volke replied.  
"We're bogged down in the city fighting. My predecessor spent so long shelling the city that he gave time for the Orks to prepare everything they needed to set up a defence. And every building that we collapsed with artillery became a new fortress for them." The general stood up and gestured to the map on the wall behind him, pointing out some critical infrastructure.  
Major General Hikes' HQ was based in a ruined old hotel lobby in part of the recaptured city. Everything was covered in concrete dust and the General Staff were rushing around updating positions and calling in for updates over vox-net. Occasionally one of the staff officers would glance over at Voltke and evaluate him. Voltke carried the legendary reputation for siege warfare born with the death of a billion Krieger troops. He wondered what these men expected of him. The idea didn't bother him so much as it occurred as a passing thought.  
"They shape the rubble into defensive works. Reinforce it with steel from the buildings. Our men assault and get turned back, then need to bring up armour to dislodge the defenders. But the defenders have already shifted positions. And they have a _lot_ of anti-armour. It's costing me tank after tank to take each city block. And infantry by the hundreds."  
Voltke looked at the city map from his chair. The Imperial forces were situated in the south of the city, attacking north. Most of the city streets were arranged in a grid pattern. North-south, east-west. From years of siege warfare, Voltke could already see the whole campaign play out as he stared at the map.  
Those streets were a killzone. Once where you might be able to see a kilometre down the straight and flat street, now enormous piles of rubble born from collapsed buildings blocked your view. Each pile of rubble was an obstacle. It would be like assaulting a hill every time you tried to take one. With the added complexity of ruined buildings either side of the road. Both sides could be hiding hordes of Ork warriors. So you would have to clear those buildings out before you assaulted up the rubble pile, which itself could be fortified with all the provisions a ruined city could afford.  
And the buildings that you've just cleared on either side of the street were connected to buildings further up. So after you've cleared them, perhaps those buildings are re-occupied by Orks infiltrating through secretly cut holes, only to open fire as your troops emerge onto the street to begin the assault. So perhaps you occupy the buildings and bring up armour to blast the rubble. Forgetting for the moment that you had to fight room to room, up dozens of stories against the enormous Orks: bred for war and good at it, too. The enemy has had long enough to hear your tanks rolling through the streets and bring up their own heavy vehicles or anti-tank weapons. And when they blow up your lead tank, it blocks the way for all the followup tanks. Now you need a recovery-vehicle to drag it out of the way, with guardsmen hitching winches, under fire.  
Hell is the only word for it. Commanders in the ground would learn quickly that the Orks were adept at this game of chess. Every clever move a well-learned imperial commander brought to the streets would have a dumb but battle hardened Ork warboss reacting just as cleverly.  
"How many regiments do you have, sir?" Voltke asked.  
"General Torrent has nine to the west, taking all the industrial districts. But I have twelve to deal with the city. And your regiment makes thirteen." The general answered.  
But none of them were from Krieg.  
"The 202nd Death Korps Infantry Regiment is happy to be at your service. Where am I to deploy, sir?" Voltke asked, somberly. 


	2. Chapter 2

Voltke lowered his binoculars. He stood atop a husk of a building at the intersection of an upside down T, facing north. From his position on the roof he could observe all along the road in the thin rays of predawn light.  
Today's mission was an advance north across a wide front. Voltke's regiment was attacking up five main streets. He had designated a company to assault each street, with the rest of his men in reserve. He was personally overseeing 1st Company's advance up the middle street, as scouts reported particularlyheavy enemy presence.  
A platoon of engineers and two grenadier squads were to lead this attack. Before dawn Voltke had begun clearing the buildings either side of the street in preparation for the assault on the main obstacle for the day. One large thirty story building had given his men particular trouble in the darkness. He had more or less lost an entire platoon in the room to room fighting to secure the building. Sixty or so men before it was taken.  
Now was time for the attack on the rubble mountain that blocked the street. Below him his assault forces were preparing themselves out of sight, hidden in some building waiting for his order. Next to him was the company commander, Captain Alpha. There wasn't much movement atop the mountain of rubble. The only evidence of the enemy was steel and metal shaped to make hard-points for the unseen defenders to use as cover. Even sharpened metal spikes facing outwards to hamper an infantry attack. It was a well organised affair, Voltke thought with professional approval.  
Also atop the roof next to Voltke were six autocannons and three lascannons. Far behind them down in another city street were eleven mortars and their crews, with coordinates and shells at the ready. Voltke checked his watch. He glanced at his vox-caster.  
"Mortar team: Fire." Voltke ordered.  
Eleven mortars were a lot of firepower to deliver onto an exposed hilltop in a narrow city street. The top of the mound exploded as the mortar shells hit it all at once. Rubble was obliterated and steel was swept away: becoming shrapnel to kill anything behind it.  
"Heavy weapons team: Fire!" Voltke yelled.  
The autocannons and lascannons ripped into the rubble too, blasting more craters and raking the top to suppress any remaining troops. Voltke then directed the autocannons to engage the buildings along the street ahead. Any would-be sharpshooters hiding in those windows would also be suppressed by the heavy fire.  
Six rounds from each of the mortars and there wasn't a trace of the makeshift defensive position atop the rubble left.  
"Heavy weapons team, ceasefire!" Voltke ordered. "Assault team, begin attack." Voltke said to his vox-caster.  
The heavy weapons fell silent and below them the assault team stormed out of a building at the base of the rubble and began their advance upwards. Once they had enough of a headstart, Captain Alpha ordered his first platoon to begin advancing up in support. There was no enemy fire from the rubble mound at all.  
The assault team brested the top. The grenadiers set up their own firing positions: a heavy bolter and heavy stubber at each flank, guardsmen with lasguns in between, covering the street below. As this was done the engineers charged over the top.  
Now some gunfire opened up, but it was out of Voltke's sight, over the rubble mound. The grenadiers fired back with a vengeance. Voltke heard the loud bangs of the engineer's shotguns drumming out in reply to the heavy Ork guns. The first platoon crested the rubble now, passing in between the grenadiers, bayonets fixed.  
As the minutes ticked on, more platoons went over, but the gunfire had mostly fallen silent after the initial few minutes. Vox-chatter came in from the platoon commanders. The road ahead had housed a few improvised defensive works but had largely been destroyed by the engineers and 1st Platoon. As per Voltke's direction they were beginning to clear the buildings either side of the road past the rubble mound with grenades and bayonet. Reports of hand-to-hand fighting were voxed back to Voltke's HQ atop the building, but the platoon commanders largely had the situation in hand. Voltke turned to Captain Alpha.  
"Well done, Captain. Your company did fine work." He said curtly.  
"As expected. That attack was textbook, sir." Alpha complimented.  
"Get forward and make sure you're prepared for a counter attack. Your orders are to clear up to 799th St before 1800h." Voltke ordered.  
"Yes, sir."  
Now Voltke was less consumed with the immediate task at hand he could hear the fighting in the rest of the city. Mortar fire, the heavy crack-crack-crack of the Ork weapons, the tinny sound of heavy bolters. Everything. He turned to his vox-caster.  
"Updates from the other companies?"  
The vox-caster read off his notepad the positions for each company. They were all advancing street by street, building by building without significant casualties. Mortar bombardments were being used to great effect when clearing the prepared defences. 2nd Company took some losses when a building they were clearing collapsed, wiping out a platoon. Possibly a booby trap. Otherwise, casualties were light for a regimental-wide assault of this scale.  
Voltke let himself smile under his rebreather. It was nearly a year between now and his last campaign. He loved the chaos, the death, the destruction. He loved the victory, the sacrifice, the honour.  
An hour after dawn the whole 202nd Regiment had taken their daily objectives and were postured to receive counter attacks. None came. Voltke shifted his Regimental HQ forward to sit just behind his frontline. He rotated the frontline companies back into reserve and his fresh companies forward, intending for them to take tomorrow's objectives. When Major General Hikes arrived in his chimera with a pair of Leman Russ tanks as escorts, he nodded at Voltke's update.  
"All positions are taken then?"  
"Yes, sir." Voltke said through his rebreather, hand resting on his sabre. They were standing in the city street which had been a battleground hours before. Twenty or thirty dead Orks were lying dead after manning their improvised defensive positions. More were hanging out of windows above and another dozen splattered in green mess in a bottom floor store behind the general, destroyed by frag grenades.  
The general's command squad had moved over to mingle with Voltke's command squad, offering some kind of light hearted introductions. Voltke's men promptly ignored them, rebreathers hiding any trace of humanity from the unfamiliar guardsmen.  
"You didn't request any artillery or armour. Casualties?" The general asked carefully.  
Voltke understood the implication immediately. Non-Krieger officers had a habit of over consideration for casualties. They didn't understand that Krieger guardsmen could only find atonement in death. The less loyal forces of the Imperium didn't understand that Krieger troops would pay any price for any victory. But Voltke's answer surprised the general anyway.  
"A hundred and nine dead. A hundred and sixty wounded being transported back to the Regimental Aid Post."  
"Good." The general exclaimed at the low numbers. "You'll receive tomorrow's orders before midnight."  
The general and his men roared away in their armour, off to oversee the ongoing battling in other parts of the city.  
Voltke reentered his temporary HQ in the lobby of an apartment building. His HQ snapped to attention as he entered. Voltke saluted and called for his steward to bring him food. He sat at an old wooden desk which had been dragged out of a room. He briefly studied the city map, before his food arrived. His staff officers were organising resupply and medical aid. Part of his mind listened to them, ensuring their orders complied with his own plans. He ate slowly, silently watching his dozen staffers fill out paperwork and draw updated enemy and friendly positions on the large mapboard on the wall.  
The Imperial Army had dispatched large armoured and mechanised regiments in a massive cut-off mission to seal the Orks in the city. Six regiments stationed in defensive positions around the outskirts of the city to the north, ready to slaughter the Orks if they fled away from the massive attack coming from the south. Nine or so regiments were attacking the industrial district in the eastern half of the city, but the main battle was occurring in the middle of the city under the command of Major General Hikes and his army of thirteen regiments.  
A large continent on the other side of the planet was the main battleground for the fate of this world. The sulfur deserts were being fortified by the Orks, who had no choice but to begin to dig in and prepare a last stand as no Ork reinforcements could breach the blockade. Millions of Orks trapped and desperate. They had spent six months preparing the defenses while the Death Korps Regiments were transported to the world. Fifty siege regiments, eleven artillery regiments, five armoured regiments and twelve infantry regiments. All from Krieg. And a host of other Imperial Guard regiments in support. Some six or seven million troops battling the Orks in a glorious war. When the enemy burrowed into the ground and the Emperor needed soldiers to dislodge them, he only thought of Krieg.  
But here on the vastly less well defended northern continent, the fighting was not fierce enough to warrant the use of Death Korps. Until Voltke's 202nd Regiment arrived late. It was decided that the slowing campaign in the north could use the reinforcement of the large Krieger regiment to break the stalemate and bring some momentum back to the attack. This city- the only city of the world- had been evacuated in the face of the Ork invasion five years ago, so the bombing and artillery campaign had been extensive, as no civilian casualties were considered. They destroyed most of the Ork armour in the streets and struck any large congregations of Orks, encouraging the enemy to break up into smaller forces which would be easier for the attackers to deal with. This was not the do or die campaign Voltke had wished for.  
Voltke finished his meal as his company captains entered the HQ for the daily debrief and orders for tomorrow. They stood before the mapboard while Voltke updated them on the new situation. Little had changed. Some friendly regiments had failed to take all their objectives, causing delays and holdups as the frontline ended up looking wavy: some regiments pushing ahead rapidly like their 202nd Regiment, while others were bogged down. Voltke was to wait until his flank was secured before he could begin his attack tomorrow, which meant he could not give comprehensive orders and timings to his company commanders. They all resented the other, less disciplined Imperial counterparts that they were required to fight alongside.  
"You'll receive detailed orders via vox tomorrow when Major General Hikes gives me leave to continue." Voltke finished.  
The captains saluted and left the room, marching out in step before they climbed into their Centaur vehicles outside and roared off to their individual company HQs. Voltke looked over at his adjutant, Major Fische on the other side of the room. Fische was at his own desk made out of equipment crates with a door placed over the top to grant a flat surface. He had watched the brief silently. Though his rebreather was placed on his desk, it may as well have been on, for Fische's pale face showed no emotion. As Voltke had personally commanded the 1st Company's attack, Fische had personally overseen the 3rd Company's attack. Both men had a long history of achievements in warfare. Both shared the same shame in life. They had watched their brothers fall into restful death. Seen their men drop while carrying out the Emperor's will. Heard the relieved cries of other Krieger guardsmen as the war machine swallowed them whole, taken by bullet or shrapnel or bayonet.  
Both Voltke and Fische had lived too long. The indignity of it grated them both, though they had never exchanged words to that effect. The only relief, slight though it was, was to bring victory to the Emperor. To use the Krieger guardsmen in battle like the Emperor intended. To use them as a weapon to slay the enemy in droves. And to retake the galaxy, block by block. Planet by planet. System by system. All for the Emperor. All in atonement for their past sins.  
Voltke broke eye contact with Fische and sat back at his desk. There was paperwork to sign. 


	3. Chapter 3

There was a large open area called Market Park. It was nearly a kilometre across and two kilometres in length. It was the only place in the city that buildings gave way to well-ordered gardens, pergolas, rows of trees, small ponds and ornate statues. Voltke's men had been pressing the attack over the park for three hours.  
It was critical to gain control of the surrounding buildings, as any sharpshooters or heavy weapon teams situated atop the roofs would have great opportunity to engage guardsmen advancing through the park. Voltke began by situating a dozen heavy weapons teams on roofs on the southern edge of the park.  
The Orks in return had spent some time fortifying the whole position. They had occupied the roofs to the north of the park and were firing rockets and heavy weapons on Voltke's men as they took their positions on the opposite side of the park. It had taken two hours of long-range fighting to establish fire-supremacy against those Orks. The overwhelming firepower of Voltke's regiment was more than the Orks could combat, and they either withdrew or ceased firing onto the buildings that Voltke's regiment had occupied.  
From there Voltke organised the initial assault. A company would begin clearing the buildings on the left flank of the park. Another clearing the buildings on the right flank. Simultaneously another company began advancing up the centre, clearing the park itself. All this Voltke could watch from one of the southern rooftops with the heavy weapons teams, who were peering through binoculars searching for movement in the windows of the buildings yet to be cleared.  
The company moving through the park ran into some prepared Ork positions. They had dug in behind a treeline and out of sight of the heavy weapons from the south. The company commander ordered an initial mortar bombardment, then assaulted the fox-holes with grenades and bayonet. Moments later the commander reported success and continued his advance.  
The fighting continued, his company in the park running into slight defences, little more than speed bumps before the withering bombardment and bayonet attacks of the company. And on either flank the buildings were mostly unoccupied, except for some reports of random Ork boyz who disintegrated and ran as the guardsmen cleared building after building. These were not the diehard Orks that Voltke had expected to encounter on this planet. These ones were spread thinly around the city, their defences easily destroyed, their morale paper thin.  
Voltke's men did have more trouble the closer they got to the northern buildings. The entire strip had been occupied by the enemy and though forced into silence when Voltke's heavy weapons teams had suppressed them hours earlier, now they had relocated and taken up position in the lower floors. Many were obscured by the trees of the park, thus Voltke's heavy weapons teams were unable to overwhelm them with accurate firepower. The advancing companies were on their own. But they did not falter.

Grenadier squads assaulted forward while their comrades fired into the buildings facing them. Voltke could not see the attack play out, but the regular vox-updates told him everything he needed to know. The Orks had lined the bottom floors with their troops, crouched behind the windows and blockading the doors.  
As the grenadiers charged across the road from the park, the Orks emerged from their hiding places and cut down the attackers with withering machine gun fire. The guardsmen in the park fought hard, grenade launchers, meltaguns and plasma guns doing fine work to destroy the Orks in the the lower floors. But the Orks in the upper floors had much better ability to fire at the guardsmen in the park than the guardsmen in the park had to fire back. The company commander held his position, though his men were incredibly exposed. Voltke needed the other two companies clearing the buildings on either side of the park to hurry up and take up positions on the nearby rooftops. There they could fire down at the Orks and suppress them again to make another assault on the northern buildings possible. Voltke gave orders to that effect. And like clockwork, guardsmen began appearing on the rooftops on the left and right side of the park and taking up firing-positions. From the rooftops they could blast the Orks out of their windows, relieve pressure from the company caught in the park, who in turn could assault a second time. Success came shortly after.  
Major Fische and the company captains not participating in the assault were standing behind Voltke on the rooftop, some with binoculars, some without. There was always some professional curiosity from the commissioned ranks. It was important to let them see how Voltke handled an attack like this so that one day when Voltke was dead, these men would be able to continue with the same effectiveness. It had been a good demonstration of fighting in complex terrain.  
Voltke dismissed the officers and left the building, climbing aboard his Centaur to travel up to the front line. His command squad stood, lasguns pointing up and out, scanning the windows of buildings as they passed. There was always the possibility of lurking Orks who had remained hidden.  
As Voltke reached the opposite end of the park, his company commander emerged from a still smoking building and updated Voltke.  
"The Orks fled back into the city as we came in with bayonets. We followed closely until we reached our objective, 828th St. Many of the xenos were killed before they could withdraw."  
Voltke turned and looked at the park behind him. The unkempt grass and gardens were now littered with dead guardsmen. A quartermaster was going through the wounded and checking each of them. Any that were mortally wounded would be given a field execution. Any that should live were being dragged into Centaur vehicles to be given medical care so that one day they could return and die for the Emperor with honour.  
Voltke brought up other companies to replace his mauled front line companies and sent in his update for Major General Hikes.  
As his other troops came marching up through the park after a day of light reserve duties, Voltke walked over to one of the columns and asked a guardsman what passage of his Uplifting Primer he had last read.  
"Chapter 5, Know your Foe: Section 1, Orks, sir." The man said, falling out with precision drill.  
A pertinent chapter.  
"Recite it." Voltke ordered.  
"General introduction: Of all the pestilent alien races that infest our galaxy, the Orks are the most numerous. They mass together in great warbands and by sheer weight of numbers they overwhelm those who stand before them-" The guardsman replied through his rebreather.  
"Their strength lies in numbers, but they left few soldiers here to fight us. So they are weak. We'll find worthier foes to battle soon. Go."  
The guardsman saluted and rejoined his platoon. With their morale sufficiently lifted, Voltke continued on foot to the front line, one block past the edge of the park. His men had taken positions on the south side of the intersection and faced north. Heavy weapon teams set up on the roofs of the corner buildings and prepared to cut down any Ork movement ahead.  
A platoon commander saluted Voltke and brought him to the roof, delivering a quick update brief.  
"Sir, some Ork movement in vicinity of that supermarket ahead. And there was a small counterattack from that red building across the road."  
There were ten or fifteen dead Ork boyz lying dead in the street, with a pair of guardsmen walking through bayoneting the bodies.  
"Where's your company commander?" Voltke asked.  
"Unsure, sir. I'll find out and send him to you."  
Voltke left the roof and toured the troops as they set themselves up in buildings facing north, ready to fight off any more attacks. His command squad followed at his heel, vox-caster occasionally giving Voltke news of the other regiment's progress. Voltke inspected his troops in their defensive position. He came upon one guardsman was stationed at a window, lasgun aimed out. Voltke noticed the man bleeding profusely from a wound to the stomach.  
"You." Voltke said, coming before the man.  
"Sir!" The guardsman responded, snapping to attention.  
"Why aren't you at the aid post getting treatment?" Voltke said, very quietly through his rebreather.  
"No excuse, sir!" The guardsman replied, swaying on his feet.  
"Your watchmaster left you to cover this window. What happens when you fall dead and the Orks counter attack?" Volte said, quietly still. There was a fury in his quiet voice.  
"No excuse, sir!"  
"Your whole squad will be killed and overrun because you're unable to carry out your orders. And your platoon will be slaughtered. And your company. The _regiment_." Voltke virtually whispered it, but was an inch away from the guardsman's face.  
The watchmaster in question arrived from another room and stood to attention.  
Voltke turned on him. "March your squad back to the aid post. You'll be caring for the wounded and doing manual labour for the medics for the rest of the war."  
Even under the heavy great coat and rebreather Voltke knew the watchmaster had wilted. It was rare to find a Kreieger watchmaster wanting in his duty.  
The other couple of squad members stood at attention, there stillness a testament to the gravity of the situation. Keeping a wounded man on the line might be a necessity in some conflicts, but this was not that time. With a capable aid post to the rear and only slim threat from counter attacks, the soldier's duty was to make himself well enough to rejoin the fight. Some officers would let this slide, but not a Krieger one. Discipline was more important than any man. Or any men.  
"Carry him to a Centau. Get him out of my sight." Voltke ordered the guardsmen, pointing to their wounded comrade. Voltke marched through the rest of the position, his eyes alight. He noticed minor infractions and punished them severely. These men were the best of the Imperium, but after a day of battle and a week of warfare, they were bound to be in violation of one standing order or another. And Voltke found each infraction.  
Cold command belonged to the Death Korps officer. The other Imperial officers might fill their troops with heat, warming them against the chill of the night and the enemy that hid in the darkness. That's when the tendrils of chaos reached out for the Imperium. The cold was something to fear.  
But not for the Death Korps. It was an icy command. Their gazes are cool blue. Their words, emotionless and distant. These men need no fire. They need frigid-blue command. They were as cold as their home planet. As cold as the night. For Chaos knew what waited for _them_ in the dark. A cool Krieger guardsman, with his cold-steel bayonet, a chilly prayer on his lips and a silent strike from the shadows. 


	4. Chapter 4

Voltke sat at his desk in a the ruined interior of a barber shop. His men had quickly swept the floors clear of debris and set up a field-desk and sleeping cot for him in the dark back room. Voltke had enough space and privacy to remove his rebreather and lean back in the comfortable barber's chair. Major Fische had taken over the old bathroom next door and Voltke could hear his adjutant through the thin walls. Occasionally Fische shouted orders, called for paperwork and stomped from his makeshift desk across the timber floor to go find something himself. Where Fische was being inundated with work, Voltke was left in solitude. His staff might have quietly agreed to let Voltke's evening go unmolested, for it was rare that he had such uninterrupted personal time. Perhaps Fische had deftly commanded that all incoming paperwork go to him for a few hours, rather than to Voltke. Even a Krieger officer can grow weary from perpetual toil. Perhaps his men had recognised his fatigue before Voltke himself had.  
Voltke stripped his boots from his feet, spread his toes out and put them up on the desk. He leaned back deeply into the squeaky and comfortable barber's chair. He rubbed his face and felt his stubble. Then closed his sore eyes and visualised the city map. After four weeks they had pushed at quite an even pace. Slowed from time to time by particularly dedicated defenders but mostly the advance had been rapid across the entire front. Voltke's regiment was performing the best, in his opinion. They were reaching their objectives first, though that was only to be expected. They were the largest regiment participating in the attack. And the only Krieg regiment.  
What was more interesting was the percentage of the city left to assault. Voltke reckoned that perhaps 30% of the city was under Imperial control. With the city entirely surrounded and the main attack through the city-proper taking ground so fast, it seemed like there would only be another 6-8 weeks until it was completely recaptured. Voltke could then bring his 202nd Regiment into the real battle for this world and leave this glory-less sideshow. The news from across the world in the open plains against those cornered, diehard Orks was grim.  
There was a quiet knocking on the door.  
"Enter." Voltke shouted, swinging his feet off the table.  
"I brought you dinner, sir." His steward said, stomping across the concrete floor.  
He presented a plate for Voltke's inspection, who nodded and allowed a space to be cleared and cutlery to be set. A water bottle was placed on the desk and the steward stood by the door, waiting to be dismissed or to stand and wait to clear the dinner away. Voltke left him at attention by the door and silently ate for a while. Then a thought occurred to him.  
"Has Major Fische eaten?"  
"As we speak, sir."

"Send him to finish his meal with me."  
Fische came in carrying his own plate. Voltke dismissed the steward and kept eating. Fische had no rebreather on while he ate. It was rare that Voltke saw the man's face. He was a grim man. Eyes and forehead crinkled with heavy stubble on his cheeks. Pale skin. Black, dirty hair, just like Voltke's. A man born from amidst the rubble of a war-torn world to float through the war-torn galaxy as a soldier with a war-torn soul. They ate silently, though the sound of renewed fighting echoed through the city streets. Voltke instinctively recognised the sound of the urgent firing from heavy weapons, quickly brought to bear. The sharp crack of grenades too. That meant close quarter fighting. The gunfire died down for a moment, then roared back up again.  
Voltke leaned back, pushing his plate away. He touched his fingertips together and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable disturbance. Then the stomping of heavy boots in the other room and the _thump thump_ knock on the door.  
"Enter." Voltke shouted.  
"Sir!" A voxman said with a salute. "An attack on 4 Company. The line was infiltrated in the darkness, but he held. The fighting is ongoing."  
"Vox Captain Hotel. Have 8 Company move up and prepare to hold the line if Captain Delta fails." Voltke replied.  
"Yes, sir."  
Major Fische put his rebreather and helmet on and slowly got to his feet. It looked like it cost the Major all the effort in the world to straighten his knees and come up. Now with rebreather on he was once again the faceless second in command of the 202nd Regiment.

"Death stands in the doorway, watching us at work." Fische said. "Soon, when our job is done he'll enter and take one of us with him. We long for the day he takes us. An old friend goes; then a new friend. Then Death comes for a stranger. We work, day by day, but he ignores us. Tormenting us. Dishonouring us with his inattention." He said.  
"We are a people with a death wish in an empire addicted to survival." Voltke replied.  
"We are a contradiction. Born only to die." Came Fische's reply as he stomped out of the room.  
Voltke had spent many years considering those ideas. He had seen worlds. Not just in battle. Imperial worlds. Worlds filled with men and women who knew nothing of the taste of war. They were preoccupied with a million other things. Things that Voltke didn't know or understand. Things that served neither the Emperor nor the Imperium. What a curious existence it must be, not to do one's duty. Not just that. An existence such that serving the Emperor was not even a desirable trait, duty not an enviable task. An existence without honour or the desire to pursue honour.  
It was impossible for Voltke to comprehend. He knew on some level that his own psyche was alien and disagreeable with those people. Other Imperial officers found his presence unwelcome in mess halls and officer clubs. To Voltke they were untrustworthy. They might retreat from battle at any moment, despite still having troops to hold the line. To them, Voltke's loyalty was a liability. He might order his troops to die in place in order to hold the line, rather than withdraw and give up ground. It was a conflict of priorities, Voltke knew. To him every step of lost territory was an insult to the Emperor and the Imperium. To them, losing men was a loathsome inconvenience.  
Heavy boots outside the room, then yet another knock on the door.  
"Enter!" Shouted Voltke, his train of thought interrupted.  
"Sir, Captain Delta is holding." Said the Vox man with a salute. "He's requesting permission to counterattack."  
"No." Voltke said. The general wanted very limited night operations so that when the army switched to night attacks instead of daytime attacks, the Orks would be completely unprepared. Gains in the first couple of nights would be rapid. It was an old trick.  
"Delta can launch one squad for a combat patrol. Cold steel; no firing, no grenades."  
Such a small sortie would be sufficient to punish the Orks and make them lose sleep tonight. But not large enough to illicit any large scale nighttime wariness.  
"Yes, sir." With a salute the man left.  
The weather on this world had been comfortable. Perhaps a little on the warmer side during the daytime. But tonight was chillier. Voltke drew his greatcoat closer and flicked his collar up. He contemplated moving to his cot and letting sleep take him away but his mind was too active to leave his desk. He went through his casualty lists. Then the recent promotion lists. As his junior officers and watchmasters were killed in combat, new men had to be promoted to replace them. Each promotion had to be signed off by Voltke himself. Another strange task, he thought. Death Korps troops were generally completely interchangeable. The only real differences were experience. Had this man been in two campaigns or three? Lesser men from the more gentile societies in the Imperium might be promoted based on personality. Daring or careful men. Smart or dumb. Cowardly or brave. These were the considerations other armies had. But Death Korps officers had no such consideration. Their men were as similar as men can be. In psyche and ability. In dedication and motivation. In war and peace. Voltke's men could be trusted to replace each other at a moment's notice. They knew the duties of the rank above them and were able to complete those duties without exception. Mistakes would occur. But they were few and far between.  
Voltke heard more fighting break out in the streets and braced himself for the next knock on the door. He imagined what Fische had said: Death standing in that doorway, a wry smile on his face. Perhaps lazily picking at his teeth or mockingly humming a tune. But then he'd leave. He had more of Voltke's men to take tonight. 


	5. Chapter 5

"Sir! The 6th Longreach and the 61st Wryer regiments are retreating." His voxman yelled across the rooftop.  
Voltke's temper flared. Just as he'd feared his flanks had both given out in the face of the enormous counter attack. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and stared at the city below him. From his vantage point he could see Orks making their way across buildings and he caught glimpses of large bodies of them moving through the streets. The battle had been ongoing for hours. A dawn attack. Even Voltke's line had shaken and been driven back a full two blocks. His reserve was now committed on his right flank, where he'd known the 61st Wryer Regiment was faltering an hour ago. The general had been clear in his orders as the Orks began their counterattack: Hold the line. There was no ambiguity there. How do these lesser Imperial soldiers live with their honourless codes of conduct. Retreating in the face of the enemy after your general has just forbidden that action. They should be shot.  
Voltke was prevented from giving the order to 'die-in-place' just in time when his voxman yelled again.  
"Sir, General Hikes orders us to retreat with the rest of the army. It's a 'general retreat' sir. The whole line."  
What choice did the general have? He couldn't have his line break up with some regiments retreating and some holding. Either all must hold or all must retreat.  
"Very well. Give the order to the company commanders. 1st, 3rd and 5th companies are to provide the rearguard." Voltke checked his watch. "Order the 'break contact' for 1115h."  
That would give his men 12 minutes to get into better positions to break off the line. Those in the top floors could descend. Heavy weapons could be packed up. Demolition charges could be set. And the 1st, 3rd and 5th companies who had been rotated out of the fighting for a brief respite could set up their own positions to cover the other companies as they retreated back down the street.  
That opened up the next question. Could the other regiments of the army prevent this retreat from turning into a route? Voltke didn't trust any of them with a fierce rear-guard action.  
"Vox the commander of the 61st Wryer. Offer to have our 4th Company, cover his retreat." Voltke ordered.  
"Yes, sir." His voxman said.  
Voltke turned on his heel and led his command squad down the stairs of the building. It was some two dozen floors and by the time he reached the bottom his huffing was all he could hear in his rebreather. As he emerged from the building where Major Fische and a pair of Centau tracked vehicles were waiting at the bottom.  
"Here sir, I'll update you as we leave." Fische said, gesturing to the second Centau. A pair of guardsmen were already standing in it, lasguns pointing out, scanning the street behind them where a few platoons of Kriegers were quick marching away from the action behind them. Another platoon soon appeared from behind a corner, then yet another who quickly set up some firing positions and demolition charges. As Voltke mounted the Centau and the engine roared to life he saw the last platoon of the company emerge from around the corner, retreating full-pelt to the newly set up defensive position. The company commander was calmly yelling orders to his lieutenants and quickly brought his men to heel as the last retreating platoon reached the relative safety behind the covering platoon. The majority of the company retreated rapidly, marching past Voltke's Centau while he and Fische watched.  
The first squads of the Orks rounded the corner, guns blazing and roaring their battle cries. They were immediately cut down by the platoon covering the retreat,. The surviving Orks scrambled back into cover; some of which had been rigged with explosives and were immediately detonated. The platoon covering the retreat began to peel back, running down the street towards Voltke. A well done rearguard action, so far. The company commander trotted past with his men, delivering Voltke a sharp salute. This would be repeated over and over. Soon the Orks would fear coming around any corner. Or taking cover behind any doorway where unseen explosives might lay. They would be careful. And careful troops were slow troops. If Voltke's men could completely sever contact with the Orks, their retreat could be rapid and relatively casualty-free.  
The Centau roared away. They passed the next waypoint defensive position, which would be used to blunt the next Ork follow up. Fische brought out a map and they pulled away down the streets.  
"Sir, the general proposed this location-" He pointed at the map, which was flapping in the wind of the open topped Centau carrier "-to be our next defensive point. Most regiments were badly mauled and he's worried about our ability to hold. He's calling for reinforcements from the west. He wants four regiments in reserve by tomorrow night."  
"He won't have them by then. Nor ever, that's nearly half of General Torrent's force. How far back is that point?" Voltke asked, yelling into Fische's ear and pointing at the new defensive line.  
"28 kilometres, from our location here. He picked it so we could defend along this highway, here." Fische yelled in reply, drawing his finger across the map. "About 20m of open ground along the entire line once we're over that highway. Fairly hard for the Orks to attack across it. Easy to hold."  
It was a good position.  
"28 kilometers by tomorrow night?" Voltke asked.  
"Yes, sir. He thinks it's possible, but asked us to tell him if we can't make it in time."  
28 kilometres while hotly pursued by the Ork's counterattack? Voltke didn't like it. Rearguard action like this was an extremely taxing physical exercise. As of now he had four out of twelve companies providing the rearguard. The other eight would retreat at full pace, prepare their own defensive positions, and then take over the rearguard when the last company reached them. This way they would rotate the tired troops into the front, where they could march hard and then take a long rest while the other companies fought and caught up. The fresh companies would rotate to the back and try to slow and blunt the follow-up forces of the Orks. It was simple doctrine, but if the rearguard was caught and overrun, the entire thing would quickly turn confused and disorganised.  
"Have the engineer company march hard on that new position. Through the night. I want that position to be solid. Reinforced rooftop hardpoints. Large killzones prepared and cleared. Have them clear any of the opposite rooftops: blow them up if they have to so the Orks can't use them." Voltke shouted.  
"Do they know where these Orks are coming from yet?" Voltke asked.  
"They said there were tunnels under the city. Hiding thousands of them." Fische replied. "The 50th Longreach found them. Some grenadiers stumbled down there and tried to fight them. They thought they were clearing out some stragglers so it was quite a surprise when the entire regiment was being overrun about 20 minutes later."  
"Lucky for us. If we'd pushed the line past the tunnels and they'd attacked our rear we might all be encircled by now." Voltke replied.  
"It might not matter. With the line in full retreat, it's all on a knife edge. We're dead men walking if the army starts to route. The Orks will overtake us on the flanks faster than we can retreat if we give them the chance. The general has been trying to slow down the retreat from some of the regiments in the line." Fische said with a shake of his head.  
"Why?" Voltke asked.  
"They were letting gaps open up between the regiments. Orks started being able to attack the flanks of the slower troops as they drew back." Fische said. "We're lacking cohesion."  
It was always bound to happen when regiments for different worlds came together. They all fought in different ways. Attacked at different speeds. Interpreted orders with different intent. And now they were under renewed pressure from the Ork's surprise attack, the stakes were so much higher for any mistake. Any one of the other 13 regiments in the army might collapse at any moment and without and significant reserve force, the army had a very tenuous position to hold. Sudden requests for reinforcements were always unwelcome at higher commands. Most of the war effort on this world was being directed to the other continent in a war of millions. This city battle was a sideshow. Nobody would pay attention to a loss of fifty thousands of troops when there were hundreds of thousands of troops being killed monthly on the other side of the world. Voltke looked at Fische. Even with the rebreather on Voltke could see the Fische's eyes. They both knew there was a problem: defeat was a coin flip. And there was nothing either of them could do about it. Fische wasn't one to speak unnecessary words. But even he couldn't hold his tongue.  
"Sir, if the line breaks at any point…"  
"I know." Votke said. 


	6. Chapter 6

The line was built up along the highway that ran through the city. Along it was mostly road-scape buildings. Semi-industrial: warehouses, workshops, carparks, etc. For three days the line had held. Far away from the 202nd Death Korps Regiment there had been breakthroughs and initially Voltke had presumed a full-scale retreat would be in order. But an armoured regiment had arrived from the east in time and beat back the breakthrough in conjunction with massive reallocation of airsupport. It seemed High Command had noticed the predicament after all.  
But still, the line was merely holding on. There wouldn't ever again be the rapid, easy push into the city like they had maintained previously. As far as Voltke could tell, all that had prevented the complete destruction of the army was a curious platoon commander from the rural world of Longreach hearing some noises in a tunnel as he passed by. Without those men springing the Ork's trap early, the entire army would have continued past, only to be encircled and devoured by the Ork troops lying in wait. War was as much luck as skill.  
All the 13 regimental commanders of the army had been summoned to Major General Hikes' Orders Group meeting. The General had established his HQ at the rear of the army, with the logistical, medical, intelligence and all the other support staff. This was a private meeting though. The original 13 regimental commanders were joined by two new ones who had been rotated over to reinforce the army. Both men commanded armoured regiments based around the Leman Russ.  
General Hikes was briefing the weary officers. They were in a backroom of an filthy office building. It was a small room with a big table covered in debris and dust from the floor above. The colonels were a dusty lot too. All of them real combat officers, Voltke grudgingly acknowledged. Not Kreiger though. He looked at them with the knowledge that they had allowed their regiments to be beaten; some of them withdrawing without orders. But the flashy medals and grizzly scars showed that they had done their duty and been recognised by the Imperium…and perhaps the enemy, too: the commander of the Longreach 59th Infantry had an otherwise clean and handsome face but was missing an eye and an ear. Voltke had the inkling that it was the work of a Tyranid gaunt.  
The commanders had all introduced themselves outside while waiting on the general. Voltke had shaken hands and said his name with his rebreather under his arm to put his brother colonels at ease. They prefered looking into the eyes of the man they spoke to. Voltke had learned this after many years under the scrutiny of other men-of-war just like these.  
Hikes explained in detail the situation that had occurred in the other parts of the city. Ork resistance had been thrown at their sister army in the industrial district to the west also, which meant the entire Imperial advance of 22 regiments had been halted and thrown back across a massive front, spanning hundreds of kilometres in urban fighting. It was quite unheard of to suffer such a reversal without it turning into a full scale slaughter. The fact that the army had bit its heels in and turned a retreat into a- so far -successful defence was quite noteworthy.  
"General Torrent is getting his flank turned here." General Hikes explained, pointing at his briefing map. "He thinks most of the Ork vehicles are being brought out to fight in the wider and more open areas of his sector, where they can really use their heavy guns to better effect. He predicts his position will be untenable by the end of the week, three days, without reinforcements. And I have it on good authority that none are coming. He's outnumbered and doesn't have enough troops to maintain his flank. If he tries to hold it and fails his whole line will be rolled up. So he has been given permission to withdraw when the Orks take this point here." Hikes pointed to another point. "If he starts withdrawing, we'll follow. And likely won't stop the withdrawal until we're outside of the city."  
Defeat then. It seemed inevitable to Voltke from the outlined situation. The positions of the Imperial troops on the map even _looked_ ugly to his experienced eye. Armoured regiments randomly interspersed with infantry regiments. Both army's reserve forces fully committed; dangerously leaving no option to respond to a breakthrough. The regiments themselves were even thinning out and holes beginning to open between each one as casualties mounted. Defeat was three days away.  
It had amazed Voltke when he was a young guardsman how _slow_ these wars played out. When a soldier is in a trench on the battlefield nothing seems to happen. For weeks and months there may be no action. No firing. No combat. Just boredom. Daily life was filling sandbags and awaiting your ration delivery. A few hundred metres away there might be a thousand enemy troops. Filled with hatred. Their entire lives an insult to the Emperor and the Imperium. But there was nothing to be done. You would sit and wait. For months. Then one day finally the enemy would attack. Boredom was replaced with adrenaline. You would do you duty. Slay the enemy and perhaps be fulfilled in life with death. But soon after that magnificent battle the boredom returned. Sandbags and food. Digging and sleeping. This was life for the guardsmen.  
As you rose in the ranks, first to watchmaster, then to lieutenant with a platoon at your command. And again to captain, with a full company: the slowness and sluggishness of war was replaced but urgency. Everything happened faster. Where once you were a guardsman with no responsibilities, now you were an officer with a map and a voxman. There was always information coming in. One platoon or the other was being attacked or sending out a combat patrol. The required effort to be an officer rose exponentially. You were responsible for the combined experiences of 750 men. You don't interact with them for the boring parts: just the action. A company commander constantly moves around, improving his defences or planning an attack. Perhaps his Aid Post is poorly situated: you must find a new position yourself. Ammunition is running low? You organise a platoon to haul more to the front. Then you're attacked on the right flank. You rush there and take command of the defence personally. Then attacked on the left. You arrive just in time. The regimental commander orders you to counterattack? You draw your pistol and form your men up for it. Meanwhile that guardsman who just fought on the right flank is back to being bored, his battle over even as you rush from place to place fighting battle after battle around him. Since his promotion to colonel, commander of the 202nd, Voltke had found that everything happened so fast. He longed for the days of inaction. Where one simply had to look after himself. Where sharpening his own bayonet might be the busiest he would be that day. Inaction was shameful. Voltke knew that, on a conscious level. But nonetheless he felt the speed that came with responsibility nothing but a perpetual discomfort.  
"Sir, what of our line?" A colonel asked the general. "Are the Orks expected to maintain this level of aggression?"  
Voltke had been in far worse wars than this. But the constant attacks from the Orks surprised even him. Night was the real battleground here. The Orks were sending sorties across the highway without fail every single night. They often captured small beachheads, too. Voltke had watching his own 2nd Company fight for hours last night against and incredibly competent and determined force of Orks. They had seized a large warehouse on the Imperial side of the highway and used it as their forward operating base. They fought their way into the surrounding buildings, accepting great casualties as they charged across open streets. The salient wouldn't last, though. Voltke directed heavy mortar bombardment into the warehouse and surrounding district. Then followed it up with his engineer company who went in with shotguns and grenades. As dawn broke a thousand xenos corpses were dragged into the streets to be burned behind the line. Three hundred Imperial wounded and a hundred and fifty dead, would be sent into the rear echelons too.  
"There's no way to know their numbers accurately in this terrain." Hikes replied. "Aerial reconnaissance is constant, obviously. But we're losing a lot of birds. High Command told me that it's at least three divisions worth of Orks facing us directly. But I think that's an understatement. We've hammered them and they're still extremely active. I'd say five or six divisions." He paused and looked around the room, meeting his colonel's eyes.  
90,000 Orks, Voltke thought. Even at the low estimate: 50,000 or 60,000 Orks would be a serious threat. Could there really have been so many hidden deep in the city? Deep in the tunnels? That level of organisation seemed beyond the Orks. To stay hidden and draw their enemy in like that seemed far too subversive for the Ork's usual military doctrine.  
"As for their aggression…" Hikes said with a pause. "It seems like they're willing to bring the fight to us. They had five weeks to feel us out as we attacked into the city. They know a lot about us. Our disposition and composition. They know we lack armour, for example. They probably know they outnumber us too. We don't know if they'll use that information. We don't if they know _how_ to use it. But put away your Uplifting Primers. These xenos know how to fight. They're bred for it."  
There were more questions. Supplies, mostly. Reinforcements too. Voltke's 202nd Regiment had begun the war with some 10,000 men including drivers and support staff. He'd long since stripped his supply company of as many troops he could spare to reinforce the line companies. He was down to about 6,500 men.  
Voltke had personally bypassed Major General Hikes last night to request reinforcements from the senior Krieger general on the planet: General Kast. Kast was in command of a full Krieger army of on the other side of the planet, busily sieging the heavily fortified Ork position in the sulfur deserts. At the head of well over half a million men, when Voltke asked for a mere six infantry companies, or 5,000 men, Kast had nonchalantly agreed to transfer the reinforcements. Voltke had hopes they would arrive in the next few days.  
General Hikes requested each colonel give a quick brief of his own situation. They went around the room. Mostly the regiments were down to 50-60% strength. Their heavy weapons were largely still intact, meaning they could muster serious defence. The colonel's spoke gruffly but professionally, standing when it was their turn and candidly describing their position and ability to defend it. There wasn't any of the cowardice Voltke had expected from these men who would retreat mid-battle.  
Voltke brushed the dust from his pants and stood when it was his turn to brief the others. He was holding more of the line than the other, smaller regiments. And the results were speaking for themselves. His regiment was being attacked more often and taking more casualties. He drew a notebook from his great coat's inner pocket and read off a list of sorties the 202nd had repulsed in the last three days. An attack over the casino overpass, 200 casualties. An attack on the welding house and surrounding suburb,130 casualties. An attack on the warehouse, 450 casualties. Another half dozen smaller attacks leading to 800 more casualties. Voltke put the notebook away and looked at General Hikes.  
"Sir, we're not being informed of the Ork movements in time." Voltke said. "They attack in force every night and can move into position out of our sight. We need more reconnaissance. We need more men. Artillery to start pounding the strong points in their line would spoil their attacks. Or at least mortar rounds, I'm down to emergency stockpiles."  
"Colonel, we just don't have the resources." Hikes replied to Voltke with a little shake of the head.  
"All it will take is one lucky sortie into a weak point in the line. It could be against any of our regiments. Then the position will be untenable." Voltke said, taking his seat again.  
Hikes thought about that, his hand going to his chin. The other colonels were nodding though. The Wyer commander muttered something that Voltke didn't hear, but it garnered the agreement of the officers next to him, one who spoke up.  
"Sir, can we be sure no reinforcements are forthcoming?"  
"Apart from a few Krieg companies coming to reinforce Colonel Voltke, High Command has nothing to give us. It was expected that this force of ours would be fit for the task." Hikes replied. "In three days it won't matter if we can hold the line. General Torrent is having his flank turned, we're destined for retreat. Hold for three days, gentlemen."  
The officers left the meeting with glum handshakes and farewells. It was a sombre affair, Voltke noted as his brother colonels wished each other farewell like they were speaking to gravestones. It was one of the first lessons any soldier would learn: accept the events that our outside your control. No amount of heroism on Voltke's part would stop their flank being turned far to the west. He might as well wish for a Tyranid Hive Fleet to be consumed by the warp for all the good it would do him.  
Voltke climbed into the back of his Centaur, which immediately tore away down the street. His command squad stood at the sides, aiming their lasguns out. The main gunner dutifully scanned the road ahead from behind his heavy stubber. As they tore past platoons of guardsmen sitting and crouched in the streets Voltke wondered if those men had any idea of the destruction coming for them. The guardsmen from the other regiments he drove past looked exhausted and worn down. Their flak armour was roughed-up from months of continuous warfare. Their faces gaunt. But there was a dutifulness about them, Voltke admitted. They carried equipment crates from vehicles into supply dumps. Their sergeants and platoon commanders barked orders which were quickly followed by their men. When at rest, leaning against walls or sitting in the gutters of the streets, many immediately fell asleep; now well used to the old soldier's mantra of grabbing sleep when it comes. Sleep would be their escape, for now. They'd welcome it as a sweet alternative to the layer of concrete dust that covered everything in the old broken city. An alternative to the perpetual Ork attacks. An alternative to the drumfire from the mortars. They would all be nursing injuries now. Cracked knees, twisted ankles and cut up hands for the lucky ones. Painful cuts and fractured bones for the others. The most dedicated men on the line would be nursing near-mortal wounds, but unwilling to leave their comrades while there was honour to be won.  
As the Centaur found Voltke's 202nd rear echelon they saw the real difference between the Krieger troops and the others. While the Longreach troops might have done their manual labor dutifully, the Krieger guardsmen were truly disciplined. Watchmasters shouted orders and the Krieger men responded with a real sense of urgency. They spent no time getting to their feet and slowly wandering over to lift supply crates. They darted up without hesitation. They picked their supply crates up and set them down at the new destination as orderly as you'd find at a barracks during inspection. And they wouldn't simply slouch back against the wall once the task was done. They'd square up the boxes and look for the next task that needed to be complete.  
These were disciplined men. They hadn't simply been trained to act like soldiers. These were the soldiers that _other_ soldiers were trained to act like. They were the golden standard of the Imperium. A regiment like this was one which other officers were jealous of. They would live and die, without question, at Voltke's command. And Voltke was a soldier willing to make that decision without hesitation.  
"Sir, there's a probing attack against 3rd Company." His Voxman told Voltke.  
"Keep me informed." Voltke replied.  
Attacks were so frequent Voltke could no longer react to them all. He simply had to trust his company commanders to handle the situation and request assistance if the situation warranted it.  
They pulled up infront of Voltke's HQ and Voltke swung down from the Centaur. He entered the HQ and called for for Fische, who saluted as he stomped down the stairs of the ruinous apartment building.  
"Sir." He said, tucking his rebreather under his arm.  
"Fische, we hold for three days. Our flank is getting rolled up in the west: General Torrent can't hang on. He's withdrawing in no more than three days, probably less, but we'll plan for the worst." Voltke said as he sat himself down at his desk.  
"Yes, sir." Fische replied. There was a glimmer in his eye and a small smirk in his usually passive face that was somewhat curious.  
"What is it?" Voltke asked.  
"Three days on this line?" Fische said with relish. "There's no way."  
Voltke understood. Fische was considering their chances. Either they would be overwhelmed and slaughtered by the orks- completing the blood sacrifice that every Death Korps of Krieg guardsman yearned for. Or they would hold and win a glorious victory for the Emperor. Either way, Fische was a happy man. He looked at Voltke with those icy eyes and small smile. Voltke stared back. They both knew.  
"He's watching us closely tonight." Fische said. "He's saying 'Soon.'"  
Voltke nodded and gestured for Fische to leave, then reached for the updated casualty list on his desk but then stopped himself. It didn't matter for now. There was little he could do about the severely depleted companies under his command. His company commanders were breaking up their depleted platoons and rolling them together to reform them into some combat-capable units. He watched his staff walk around the HQ instead. They were fretting over all the details of running a regiment. Voltke saw a young lieutenant sending men out to scrounge up spare vox-casters to replace damaged or lost ones. Small problems. And misspent effort. Their mood would change when the news of their impending doom broke up. Resupply which usually absorbed most of their time would drop to the bottom of their list of priorities. Replaced instead with battle plans and detailed orders for the company commanders. When Krieger officers know they're to make a last stand they do it well. Catharsis would break out. Postures would relax slightly. There would be more looks shared between men. Soldiers were a strange lot, Voltke knew. A handshake or a smile between doomed men meant a great deal. He'd seen it many times before.  
Voltke stood from his desk and made for his cot. There was still a couple of hours before sunset. And he knew what the darkness would bring. 


	7. Chapter 7

*Crack-crack, crack-crack-crack.*  
The Ork weapons were monstrously loud. Voltke stood upon the third story roof and watched the battle play out. Muzzle flashes from the Orks and lasguns flaring in retort. He didn't have a single mortar round left in the entire regiment and his heavy weapons were largely empty also. His whole line was being assaulted and the orks were holding multiple positions along the Imperial side of the highway. They were using those points like floodgates, ushering more and more Orks through and Voltke had virtually no options left to dislodge them.  
"Bring the heavy-weapons teams up. Lasguns and bayonets only, we'll counterattack the slaughterhouse first." Voltke ordered his voxman. He was cool as usual even as he saw another score of orks peel away down a sidestreet to attack another Imperial held building.  
The Orks weren't letting the guardsmen turn the battle into a shooting match like the usually did. They were charging into vicious building to building fighting. Either shooting point blank or entering into a melee, where the Ork's brute strength was king.  
"They're on their way, sir!" Yelled the voxman over the roar of battle not even 200 metres away. "Major Fische says he's holding and it looks like the attack on our flank has stalled, but he's got no men to drive them over the highway."  
Fische was commanding the left flank and Voltke was at the centre. It was good news that Fische had cordoned the Orks in. If the Orks couldn't breakout and threaten a breakthrough it was as good as keeping them on the opposite side of the highway.  
The other flank was being held by Captain Echo from 5th Company. He was a particularly experienced company commander and Voltke trusted him as much as any man. No news from him probably meant the battle was ongoing and the result was unclear.  
Voltke saw several missiles fired from an Ork-held building. The missiles landed in an Imperial-held building which was garrisoned by a dozen guardsmen. They had put up a good fight: las-fire radiating out and holding the Orks off for the last 15 minutes, keeping a dominant command of the surrounding streets. But those three missiles fired in quick succession put an end to that. Their las-fire was abruptly cut short. Voltke heard the screams of the wounded and saw they building crumble around his men. Orks darted across the street, moving in for the kill. Despite the surrounding Imperial-held buildings laying down ferocious amounts of las-fire, several Orks made it into the now crumbling building to kill the wounded guardsmen.  
Voltke's line grew thinner. That building had been his strong-point for this part of the line. Now with is captured the whole position was untenable. He drew his lips tight.  
"Where are my heavy weapon teams?" Voltke asked.  
"En route, sir!" His voxman replied.  
Too slow. Another column of Orks snaked into the next Imperial held building. Their warcries mixed with gunfire. Voltke let air hiss between his teeth. Behind him were a dozen men guardsmen. His command squad and the clerks and drivers from his Regimental HQ.  
"With me!" He said suddenly, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.  
"Bring the Centaur's up with us. Cover our advance." Voltke ordered sharply. He drew his sabre and pistol and led the way around the corner into the contested street.  
" _With me men!"_ He roared, lunging ahead, sabre in the air and pistol firing into the darkness ahead. Behind him his men let fly with their battle cries.  
"For the Emperor!" They roared in reply.  
Ahead of Voltke were muzzle flashes and the grunting of the Orks spearheading the attack. Bullets whizzed past and Voltke fired at the flashes, charging towards them. Men garrisoning the buildings either side of him charged out too, bayonets fixed. The quicker ones overtook Voltke and met the Orks in a horrifying melee in the pitch black streets.  
Voltke saw a huge figure looming just in front of him and fired and slashed at it. The Ork roared and fell back, curling away in the darkness. Voltke continued forward, a guardsman bumping into his shoulder, rebreather cut in half and hanging off his face, blood spilling from the opening. But the man fought forward, lunging at the next figure. And the battle was fully joined now. Dozens of looming Orks hacking and slashing and firing into Voltke's guardsmen who fired back at point blank. The muzzle flashes ruined Voltke's night vision, so he fired ahead rapidly, unable to see if he was hitting his targets. A heavy blow caught him across the stomach and Voltke knew from experience that even a mortal wound wouldn't stop him for a time. And it wouldn't hurt until far later, well after the adrenaline dump after battle. So he pushed forward, guardsmen either side of him, firing into unseen enemy and driving forward down the street. The Orks wilted away in the face of the unexpected counter. Voltke felt the heat of the battle disappear as they pushed forward. The Ork muzzle flashes grew less and less frequent and Voltke reloaded his laspistol, having no idea of how many shots he had left. Incoming firing from second story buildings ahead snapped Voltke out of his battle fervour.  
"Into the buildings men. Clear the Orks out!"  
Voltke led the way left, storming into a pitch black building. As he pushed deeper into the darkness, sabre point leading the way he curiously remembered that entering a black opening was something of a primal fear: even his primitive ancestors knew that danger could lurk within. He moved deeper.  
*Crack-crack*  
Voltke fired back at muzzle flashes as he dived to the floor. The man behind him fired too. There were more Orks concealed in the darkness.  
*Crack-crack-crack-crack*  
Automatic fire ripped into the walls of the room, sweeping through the air above Voltke. He fired wildly at all the flashes until there were no more. Some guardsman behind him flicked on a torch and lit up the entire room. Six dead orks lined the walls. Voltke got to his feet and ordered the men to clear upstairs, he himself moving to the window, looking into the streets. The ragged remnants of his men were retaking buildings up and down the street. There were still dark figures of Orks moving around in the street. Voltke called attention to them and his men ran to windows and began firing out at them. Another torch beam ficked on to reveal more Orks hiding in between buildings. As Voltke fired at one, his Centaurs finally arrived on the scene. He heard the engines, yes. But what really made his ears prick up was the sound of those Heavy Stubbers. The deep, rapid fire as they shot out round after round, raking the street and hosing the enemy out of their windows. The Centaurs roared forward, pulling past Voltke's position, Heavy Stubbers firing without pause.  
Voltke knew if he had a chance to retake the ground he'd lost, this was it. The Orks were on _his_ side of the highway. Which meant they were on the _Emperor's_ side of the highway. Which meant every minute the Orks held their ground was an insult to the Imperium. He turned and found a dozen guardsmen in the room, lasguns pointed out the windows, ready for their new orders. He gathered his words, cold as ice.  
"You there!" He pointed at a watchmaster who featured in the torchlight prominently.  
"Sir!" Was the reply.  
"Do you have strength left in your legs? In your arms?" Voltke yelled over the rat-tat-tat of the Heavy Stubbers, still raking the streets.  
"Yes, sir!" Came a very enthusiastic reply.  
"Enough strength to drive these xenos back across the highway?" He shouted.  
"Enough strength to drive them into the sea, should you order it, sir!" The watchmaster retorted.  
The guardsmen laughed. They _laughed!_ Amid the slaughter and death they mustered genuine laughter. This was the calm that Kriegers felt when faced with death. The wait would soon be over.  
"Then do you duty, watchmaster. Lead the way!" Voltke roared, raising his sabre.  
The men cheered as the watchmaster lept through the window onto the street and charged ahead. Voltke followed, as did the guardsmen. More emerged from the surrounding buildings, their own fighting done.  
They charged ahead, overtaking the Centaurs. The watchmaster was cut down by heavy automatic fire, but he'd done his duty.  
"Forward!" Voltke roared. " _Forward!_ "  
The attack carried forth. Voltke ordered watchmasters and lieutenants to take over smaller splinter groups and to lead them into adjacent buildings to fight their way through the darkness. The slaughterhouse ahead was the major hub of Ork activity. It had been taken after a heavy firefight and would likely take just as much fighting to recapture it. Voltke redirected troops toward it. As the initial vicious attack was replaced by slower, more methodical urban clearing, Voltke began to realise that they were cutting down swaths of Ork troops. They were taking casualties, certainly. But the amount of Orks he stepped over was immense; whether killed by his renewed counterattack or by the original defence, Voltke didn't know. But perhaps they had bled this Ork assault dry. Perhaps… but Voltke didn't entertain the idea of victory. Duty didn't concern itself with either victory or defeat. It was the action taken to repay a debt. And the only way Krieger men could repay that debt was with life itself. That was duty. And here Voltke knew his duty. _Hold the line!_ Retake the lost ground.  
Voltke brought up the pair of Centaurs to head the attack. Twice the gunners on the lead vehicle were killed. They were quickly replaced by men who knew _their_ duty.  
Voltke directed a squad into overwatch onto a building with good sight lines onto the slaughterhouse. Then in conjunction with the Centaurs, he brought up his remaining infantry force. He guessed around a hundred men were at his command for the attack. They worked their way up the street, fighting the Orks who held their ground. The final push to the walls of the slaughterhouse came at a rush, taking fire from the upstair windows the whole way. Voltke didn't need to give the order for the doors to be breached. Men streamed inside. Heavy gunfire erupted, cutting down the first half dozen men until a few quick souls made it inside and into cover, where they could return fire. Voltke followed a string of men.  
The interior of the slaughterhouse was completely illuminated by the portable lamp packs that the original defenders of the position had set up. When they'd been overrun they had left all their equipment in place and the Orks had foolishly failed to turn the lamps off. If they had concealed themselves in the darkness instead of the blaring light, perhaps the slaughterhouse would have lived up to it's old name. Instead the guardsmen showed their superior skill. They raked the upper catwalks with fire and brought down the Orks from the scaffolding above them. They stalked through the tight freezers and between the enormous conveyor belts, gunning down the Orks wherever they stood. Voltke led a pair of guardsmen up into the offices on the second floor and killed one Ork at the top of the stairs with a shot to the face, then another who was firing out the window. And another wounded one clinging to its own severed arm.  
The counterattack was so far successful. But even as his troops mopped up the remnants of the Orks, Voltke snorted with laughter. It was still hours from dawn. Who knew what might happen yet. And there were still a dozen buildings to clear before he'd recaptured the position.  
"With me." He hissed through his rebreather. 


	8. Chapter 8

Rays of dawn sunlight crept through the streets. The cool, crisp air was still and silent. The smell of battle lingered though. The dirty smell of lead belching weapons and the burning smell of overheated lasgun charge packs. Concrete dust covered every flat surface and hung in the air, visible in the rays of sunlight. Broken buildings spilled out into the streets, rubble replacing pavement.  
Voltke walked along his line. If one could call it a line anymore. True discipline had taken over in the night hours. While positions left or right of them were being overrun, dedicated guardsmen had held their positions and kept some semblance of a line together. It meant that the Orks had only been able to come through a couple of small breakthrough points, limiting the damage significantly. If the whole line had broken Voltke would never have held.  
Now squads were replacing what platoons had held previously. If they'd garrisoned an entire block of buildings previously, now perhaps one building could be held. Or maybe the two corner buildings. Exhausted guardsmen glared out of their concealed positions in the windows, watching the highway and buildings beyond it for movement.  
Everything was a mess. No men, no ammunition, no officers. Not enough Centaurs to transport wounded. Not enough Voxcasters to communicate down the line. Not enough of anything. Voltke's Regimental HQ had been attacked and virtually destroyed in the night. Voltke had collapsed the remaining men, assigning the officers to act as platoon or company commanders and sending the guardsmen and watchmasters to fill out squads here or there. Voltke's HQ would now consist of himself and his voxman, diligently following at Voltke's heels, always in the background, reading off news and updates like a reporter might.  
The Imperial line had been breached multiple times last night. As far as General Hikes' HQ had been able to inform Voltke, the Orks had failed to make any victorious breakthrough at any point. But there were many sections of the Imperial army that had been driven fully away from the highway, creating a wavy line that was just waiting to have holes exploited by the Orks.  
Voltke dreamed of his reinforcements arriving. He would hold the line for a thousand years with five thousand more men. He guessed he was down to two or three thousand men still able to man the line. It was _thin_ , he thought as he walked through another position. This squad had six men holding a key corner building with a good overwatch on the highway. Four men were asleep on the floor. The other two had their lasguns braced on the windowsill and were looking out, their uniforms covered in Ork blood and concrete dust. They both saluted as Voltke came in, but remained crouched at the window without turning away from the line. Their duty was to stand watch. And no salute was worth endangering themselves to sniper fire or taking their eyes off the enemy line even for a second.  
"Sir, General Hikes wants an update brief. I gave him our location. Five minutes." The Voxman said.  
"Very good." Voltke replied. He descended the stairs and waited at the base of the buildings behind his frontline. These streets had been the main battleground last night. There were hundreds of dead guardsmen. And hundreds of Orks too. Voltke eyed the corpses with a professional eye. Two to one, he estimated. Even in his sleep deprived and dazed state he coldly approved of the number. For every dead guardsman he saw there were two Orks.  
General Hikes arrived. A Leman Russ tank followed by a Chimera. Hikes swung out of his Chimera and surveyed the city street. Voltke removed his rebreather and helmet and delivered his salute.  
"Good morning, sir."  
"Good morning, colonel." Hikes said, saluting.  
Hikes took in the scene fully. Looking hard at the corpses at their feet. Then he looked at Voltke.  
"Casualties?"  
"Four or five thousand. My aid post hasn't been able to give me a confident number. We have a thousand wounded, at least. The rest…" Voltke wondered how to phrase this to the non-Krieger general. "...the rest are at peace." He finished, wondering if those words would have the intended effect. Death was not so horrible a thing for a Krieger. The general might never understand that.  
"Five thousand?" Hikes said, frowning. "Your line held at the highway?"  
"After many counterattacks along the line we retook it a few hours ago. The Orks ceased the assault as soon as the sky began to lighten." Voltke replied, resting a hand on his sabre. Hikes glanced down at Votke's breastplate. There was a small piece of bloody shrapnel that was lodged into the stomach area.  
"Good Emperor!" Hikes exclaimed. "How deep is that?"  
"Not deep, sir. Just superficial bleeding." Voltke replied.  
It had cut the skin when it impacted, but wasn't even noticeable unless Voltke bent over. He'd forgotten about it completely.  
"Get that breastplate off. My sergeant will remove the shrapnel while you brief me." Hikes said.  
Voltke gave a detailed account of the night's fighting.  
"My whole HQ was destroyed. My second in command, Major Fische was killed in the fighting also. My entire chain of command has changed." Voltke said.  
"And what of your current strength. And your current capabilities?" Hikes asked as they slowly strolled through the street ahead of Hikes' vehicles.  
"We'll be overrun and killed if the Orks attack again tonight. And I suspect they will." Voltke replied, matter-of-factly.  
Hikes frowned at that.  
"That's your true assessment?" He asked.  
"Yes, sir." Voltke replied.  
"If I brought up ammunition could you hold?"  
"No, sir."  
"If I gave you three Leman Russ tanks?"  
"No, sir."  
"If I gave you an artillery battery?"  
"No, sir."  
Hikes stopped in his tracks and angrily rounded on Voltke.  
"You're incapable of holding the line? Are you no longer fit for duty? Never have I heard of an officer of Krieg refusing an order like this. Where are the unbreakable soldiers of Krieg today?"  
"At your feet, sir." Voltke replied, gesturing to the broken bodies still clutching their lasguns.  
"My other commanders are giving me at least another night." Hikes said, undeterred.  
"They may be right. But they hold less of the line. I have fewer men to hold more of the line. And I've borne the brunt of the assault thus far. I don't have enough men."  
"And if I brought you more men?" Hikes said.  
"Then I may hold." Voltke replied.  
"How many do you need?"  
"Two thousand? Three?" Voltke replied.  
"I don't have _that_ many spare!" Hikes said.  
"Then we can't hold."  
Hikes was furious. He was receiving answers he didn't want to hear.  
"We were beaten last night, sir. The Orks just aren't good enough soldiers to know it." Voltke said.  
"You hold my centre, Voltke. If you fail then my line fails and we route. I'll not have the Warmaster see my line cut in half then destroyed piecemeal." Hikes said, staring at the ground, deep in thought.  
"Then let us die in place, sir." Voltke said. How he hoped Hikes would agree. How he hoped the General would give him the order: "No retreat. Die with your men, Voltke." But it was a lost hope. These sophisticated officers from sophisticated words were loathe to give such orders.  
"No. I'll get you reinforcements. A longreach company will have to do." Hikes said with a shake of his head. "You're to hold, Voltke. I mean it. If you can't, vox me and give me an hour's warning so I can have the rest of the line break contact and withdraw. And if any of my other regiments break, I'll have you retreat with the rest of the army while they slow the Orks down. Clear?" Hikes finished, his anger dissipating as he made up his mind.  
"If I can't hold, I'm to die with my men and slow the advance. If I hold and another regiment can't, I'm to retreat." Voltke replied.  
"Yes. Good luck, colonel." Hikes said, storming back to his Chimera.  
If Voltke failed to hold the line tonight, he would die. If he was successful he would live. Both outcomes were honourable. Victory or death. Voltke found a small smile on his mouth.  
"And ammunition, sir?" Voltke yelled at the General's back.  
"I'll get you some before dark." Hikes yelled over his shoulder. 


	9. Chapter 9

The Longreach company commander came before Voltke. He was a young officer, tired and haggard. But his eyes were quick and he looked athletic. Voltke took in the man's uniform. He wore Carapace Armour.  
"Who are you, then?" Voltke said.  
They were atop a building overlooking the highway. Voltke had just received his ammunition resupply and had been pleased to find boxes of Autocannon and Heavy Bolter rounds. He'd personally walked up the line, picking the perfect positions to place his heavy weapons where they would do the most damage.  
"I'm Captain Sterling, sir. Commander of the 1st Company of the 1st Longreach Regiment." Came the young Captain Sterling's reply.  
"You're grenadiers?" Voltke asked.  
"Yes, sir. 1st Company Grenadiers."  
The Grenadiers of Longreach had been effective in the urban fighting. They were the true professionals of the rural Longreach soldiers.  
"I'll have you as my reserve. When the Orks begin the attack I'll bring you up to counterattack or reinforce the line." Voltke said, turning his back on the man, about to order his Heavy Bolter crew to set up on the neighbouring roof. Captain Sterling didn't take the hint that he was dismissed.  
"Sir, might I make a suggestion?"  
Voltke turned around. The very idea that a Captain could address him after he'd been dismissed was offensive.  
"I beg your pardon, Captain?" Voltke said quietly, through his rebreather. The Krieger Heavy Weapons Team on the roof nearby glanced at the two officers. They were taken aback by the Longreach officer's insubordination.  
"Sir, the Orks prepare for their attack close to the frontline. They do it every night. They gather together, their warbosses give them orders and then they disperse and begin the attack. My men have seen it with their own eyes on recon patrols over the highway." Sterling said it with a rush, possibly sensing he was overstepping. Voltke said nothing in return.  
"Sir," Sterling went on "If it suits your purposes, I could launch a spoiling attack an hour before dark. If we interrupt their battle preparation it might buy us some time tonight."  
That made Voltke's ears prick up a little. Aggressive combat patrolling had been something he'd thought was under-utilised in these standoffs.  
"What force would you need to locate and harass their assembly area?" Voltke asked.  
"My own company would do the job. We've done it before." Sterling replied.  
Voltke paused and surveyed the young man. He was no Krieger, that was for sure. The Captain's version of standing at attention was loosely handling his bulky Hot-Shot Lasgun in one hand and sitting his other hand on his hip. But there was a degree of independence about him. And confidence. Few men would address a Death Korps of Krieg Regimental Commander with such informality.  
"Very well, Captain. Begin your patrol 30 minutes before nightfall. How will you infiltrate their lines?"  
"Have your right flank light up the enemy positions. Fire hard on them for 10 minutes, I'll cross with my company on the left flank. We'll fight our way into their assembly area, give them a bloody nose, then fight our way out." Sterling said.  
Voltke looked at Sterling sharply. He wasn't used to not being addressed as "Sir" and being told to "Have his men" do anything by a junior officer. A less well travelled Krieger officer might have Sterling shot on the spot. But Voltke knew other worlds lived strange, undisciplined lives.  
"Very good." Voltke answered, turning away to order his Heavy Bolter crew into position.

Voltke watched the Longreach Grenadiers cross the highway from the rooftop of a three story hotel a street back from the highway. Far away on Voltke's right flank, his men were causing a ruckus. His Heavy Weapons teams were raking the enemy lines with fire and trying to draw as much attention as possible. But here on the left flank, Captain Sterling and his hundred or so Grenadiers were moving quietly… and incredibly swiftly. There were perhaps a whole platoon of 25 over the highway before the Ork lookouts even noticed.  
*Thump. Thump-thump-thump-*  
Ork heavy guns sounded off, firing into the troops crossing the highway. Too late though. The Grenadiers were already amongst the Ork lines, streaming along the street with a few men entering each building. The _speed_ of these men was what caught Voltke's interest. His men were slow, steady and methodical. These Longreach men were moving like pistons in well oiled machines. Their lasguns never left their shoulders. Wherever their eyes went, so did their weapon. They wore heavy Carapace Armour but it looked as if they were born in it.  
Orks popped up at windows ready to fire on the Grenadiers below, but were immediately shot down with a couple of accurate and quick shots. The Grenadiers didn't fire much, just a shot here or there. The whole thing was rapid and quiet, despite the viciousness of it all.  
Voltke lowered his binoculars and nodded appreciatively. Captain Sterling had broken through the Ork battle line with a hundred men and seemingly hadn't taken a casualty.  
The Grenadiers moved fast out of Voltke's sightlines in the dwindling twilight. The sound of battle continued and it would certainly cause alarm among the Ork line. But that was the point. The Grenadiers were to spoil the preparations for tonight's attack. A hundred man fighting patrol might win an hour. But from what Voltke had seen of Sterling's company, he might win far more than that. If they could disorganise the Orks and cause enough confusion, perhaps that patrol could delay the attack all night.  
"Lieutenant. Take your platoon to occupy those buildings." Voltke said to the platoon commander behind him. He didn't want Sterling to be cut off. If the Orks figured out what was happening and decided to cut off the patrol, their progress would be greatly delayed and Voltke could vox Sterling to order a withdrawal.  
The platoon commander crossed the highway and had his men set up all through the street. Seeing his own men moving through the same places that Sterling's men had moved made Voltke uneasy. His men were heavy on their feet. Weighed down by their greatcoats, rebreathers, entrenching tools and all the other gear that the Death Korps guardsmen were required to carry. They were meant for long, slow burn conflict. Battles which would take years to win. Sterling's Grenadiers were meant for lightning fast action which would be over in a day or an hour.  
Voltke stood uninterrupted for quite some time. He lost himself in his own thoughts. It had struck him for the first time in his long career that the Death Korps may not be the ultimate force in the Imperial Guard after all. Perhaps there were other tools for the different tasks that each new war presented.  
"Sir." Came a voice from behind Voltke.  
It was Captain Burkhart with a sharp salute. He had been a company commander until his company had been dissolved by Voltke and merged with 2nd Company. Since the death of Major Fische last night, Voltke had made Burkhart the second in command of the regiment. There was nobody else.  
"Yes?" Voltke answered.  
"Captain Delta is running low on autocannon ammunition. He's Requesting permission to cease fire with them and retain some emergency stockpiles for the night."  
"Very well." Voltke said. "He can cease fire altogether. The distraction was a success. The Orks know we have a company amongst their lines by now."  
The night was upon them fully now. The orange in the sky was rapidly disappearing and the only noise in the chilly air was from far north where Sterling's combat patrol did battle.  
"How long have you been a captain, Burkhart?"  
"Four years, sir. Since Je'Our Two." Burkhart replied.  
That had been a hard campaign. The planet was as cold as a Krieger on parade.  
"I'll make you a major." Voltke said flatly.  
"Yes, sir." Burkhart said, matching Voltke's flatness. Promotions weren't something to be celebrated amongst Kriegers. It was simply a matter of stepping up to do one's duty. If you were picked it wasn't a compliment. It was a responsibility.  
Burkhart saluted and marched down the stairs, leaving Voltke and his voxman alone. The voxman was crouched against the roof's parapet, head down. Kriegers learned to read body language, as they generally didn't have the luxury of seeing each other's face. Voltke could see the exhaustion in his voxman's bad posture. He was the last man Voltke had kept in his Command Squad, having farmed the rest out to bolster undersized squads. He'd been on his feet without sleep, listening to all the chatter on the vox-net and noting down all the important information for days.  
Voltke realised he'd had no sleep either. And barely anything to eat. He looked down at his uniform. Even in the near-dark after twilight his usually gleaming breastplate was dented and dull. His greatcoat had lost it's deep and rich red, replaced with the grey concrete dust of the dying cityscape. His gold epaulettes looked haggard and worn out.  
Voltke removed his helmet and turned it in his hands. The winged skull was dull like his breastplate. The eagle head that sat upon the top was dirty and cracked. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it clean and buffed it out.  
A loud detonation far ahead in the city brought Voltke out of his brooding state. He brought his helmet back onto his head and asked for an update from his voxman.  
"Captain Sterling destroyed an ammunition dump, sir…" A pause as the voxman listened to an incoming message.  
"He's withdrawing now, sir..." Another pause.  
"They're leaving explosive charges to cover their retreat. They've mostly broken the contact, sir." The voxman finished.  
Good. If Sterling had escaped cleanly there was a good chance that the Orks weren't particularly organised.  
Like clockwork the Longreach Grenadiers came trotting down the streets, flashing a light here and there to signal their friendly allegiance. The initial elements came back across the highway and set up in the buildings as overwatch. Then several detonations from where they'd come indicated the explosives had been used. And finally a flurry of quickly retreating soldiers coming quickly through the street and over the highway. Voltke's covering platoon moved back over the highway, never having fired a shot. A well executed operation.  
Sterling came springing up the steps, removing his helmet as he did so. His grin was visible even in the low light.  
"Sir!" He exclaimed, then remembering to salute he came to attention.  
"Go on, Captain." Voltke said.  
"Without a hitch." Sterling said, coming forward. "We breezed through their lines. They must have had a skeleton crew defending the front, because we were about 10 minutes behind their lines before they really sent up the alarm."  
"Did you find the assembly area?" Voltke asked.

"I think so, sir. There were perhaps a company or two out in the streets that we caught unaware. We cut through them without a problem. We found a supply dump and blew that. You might have seen it from here." Sterling explained.  
"I did. Go on." Voltke replied.  
"I'd say we left about 500 dead in our wake." Sterling said cheerfully.  
That was quite a number. Voltke didn't care if it was true or not. Even half of that would help.  
"I'm not sure about my casualties. Not many. Maybe 10 or 15. I'll get the numbers to you when I have them." Sterling said.  
"Don't bother. Have your men set up for the night. I still expect an attack. I pray to the Emperor that your men hold. If they don't, make sure you die with them." Voltke said. He stepped away and made for the stairs, leaving the bewildered young captain with those words.


	10. Chapter 10

Voltke had crouched down in the stairwell of some wrecked building that was roughly the centre of his line. There was a Heavy Bolter crew on the roof, a squad occupying the upper floor as overwatch and a squad on the lower floor to prevent any would-be assault on the building. Voltke's exhausted body was finally overcome. Sleep took him. He started awake almost immediately. But then he went back under. His voxman sat next to him, leaning against the wall, sleeping also. Together they grabbed the few moments they could. Hours had passed since nightfall and Sterling's successful attack on the Ork lines. Voltke had marched through his own line, inspecting all the half-full platoons who were stretched thin across several buildings, barely able to provide effective garrisons for any of them.  
His platoon commanders were exhausted, but they ensured their men were given a few hours sleep here and there. Voltke noticed that his men were particularly well presented. Even the buildings they were billeted in were partially swept clean and the usual squalor of the dilapidated city was minimal. Sterling looked at a company commander and asked about the tidiness of the line.  
"It's Monday, sir."  
The day where a Death Korp's Regimental Commander would inspect his troops and barracks. His men had taken it upon themselves to maintain discipline and order even in this incessant fighting.  
"Very good." Voltke replied.  
Voltke stopped to talk to all his Platoon Commanders. They reported positively, explaining their effective use of sniper fire and well organised defence plans. But there was a sense of coolness about them tonight. Not the usual Krieger cold candor either. It was special. They knew that this next attack by the Orks would likely be the end. And any Krieger worth his salt would feel a sense of calmness and openness about it. Voltke's new Second in Command, Major Burkhart, summarised the situation perfectly.  
"The time for strategy is over. It will be the watchmasters and guardsmen operating tactically which will deliver a sea of blood up for the Emperor tonight."

The frenzied firing of the Heavy Bolter atop the roof dispelled any notion that Sterling might have ceased tonight's attack.  
Voltke was on his feet and at the bottom floor windows with his voxman as the squad stationed there began to fire at screaming shadows charging across the highway. He drew his pistol and joined in the fighting.  
"Warn the rest of the line, the Orks are assaulting." Voltke coldly shouted to his voxman.  
The Orks had broken hard and fast across the highway, spearing off in different directions. The platoons in the neighbouring buildings were pouring fire onto the assaulting troops, but some Orks would get through, Voltke knew.  
Bullets sprayed at the windows, bringing Voltke to his knee seeking cover. He fired until his laspistol went dry, then reloaded. He cast his eyes around the dark room and listened to the sound of battle. A stiff breeze had brought a swirl of dust and grit up into the air. Combined with the exploding masonry and muzzle smoke, the dark night was even harder to see through. He glanced at his men, dutifully firing from cover in the windows into the street. Some guardsmen covering the door, firing hard. And Voltke's voxman shouting something in his ear.  
"-overrun, sir!"  
"What?" Voltke shouted back as he stood and fired into the street.  
"2nd Company is overrun. They're dying in place."  
Dying in place meant that no order to retreat would be given by the company commander. A glorious order to give, truly.  
"Very good." Voltke huffed as bullets wizzed and Orks in the street roared. He gunned down several, but they were making it into surrounding buildings. He ducked out of the window and grabbed his voxman, pulling him close. This transmission was important to get right.  
"Has the general ordered us to retreat?" He yelled.  
"No, sir." Came the reply.  
"General order: The 202nd Death Korps is to die in place." He yelled.  
"Yes, sir."  
Voltke fired out into the blackness a few more times until a grenade bounced through the open window. He turned away from it and leapt to the floor as his men shouted,  
"Grenade!"

The concussion rocked Voltke. He was deafened, but not dead. He turned his head and raised his pistol, looking at the door and windows. An enormous figure loomed at the window, firing his primitive weapon wildly into the room. Voltke fired back, blasting the thing into the street.  
"Up, men!" He yelled. But his men were already on their feet and retaking their positions. One was shot to pieces as he crossed a window. Another was shot down as he retook his position at the door. Voltke stood and ran to replace him, sabre now in hand.  
"Sir!" His voxman yelled. "The general says the whole line is broken. We're lost, sir! The whole army!" The excited voxman said, as if being overrun and certain death was the greatest news in the world. And Voltke felt it too. No pressure of victory. Just the ease of death.  
An explosion from upstairs which shook the whole building. Then a second explosion next to Voltke, blowing in the walls and sending Voltke reeling again. He slipped out of consciousness but panic brought him back. He mustn't die on his back. He tried climbing to his feet but could not find them. And a second moment of panic as he realised he'd lost his sword. A damned foolish sense of honour entered his mind. He couldn't leave his sword on the field of battle.  
"My sword!" He yelled.  
The voxman was at his side, sword in hand.  
"Here, sir. I'll help you up." He grabbed Voltke's arm and tried to drag him to his feet. But a third and final explosion turned him into a quivering, bloody, pulp. The explosion brought the roof down upon them and the last thing Voltke saw before black was the shredded body of his young voxman, protectively covering his own as concrete fell upon them.  
"Darkness take me." Voltke thought. 


	11. Chapter 11

But darkness would not take him.

"Sir."  
Voltke woke up. His mind came back to the world slowly. It was so bright. So clean. A _hospital!_  
"No!" Voltke exclaimed, jerking up.  
He was in a small cot with a doctor and nurse standing over him. Sitting in the corner was a Death Korps officer, rebreather under his arm.  
"Sir, please lay still." The doctor said, gently guiding him back down.  
Voltke's mind was a slow whirl of confusion. But there were priorities for Death Korps officers.  
"Where's my rebreather? My pistol and sabre?"  
The other officer in the corner reached under his chair and brought up a rebreather and beautiful sabre for Voltke. He presented the items to Voltke with head bowed.  
"A gift from the officer's mess, sir."  
The officer's expression said it all. The humiliation of living while his men died. The terror spread through Voltke's body like frostbite.  
"Who rescued me?" Voltke asked.  
"A young officer from Longreach, assigned to your command." The officer said. He gave a small shake of the head as if to apologise for the fool's desire to keep his commander alive. Voltke laid back into his pillow and closed his eyes. He had been so close to atonement. So close to release.  
"Captain Sterling." Voltke said, remembering the name. The damned fool.  
"Yes, sir. The Krieger officers came together to purchase you a new sabre and rebreather." The officer said again. The Krieger officers could probably feel Voltke's shame burning hot. The gifts were almost an apology. As if to say: "We're sorry that you could not escape, Colonel. It wasn't your fault."  
The doctor was explaining Voltke's injuries. Voltke didn't hear him. The real injury was his honour. The real injury was that he lived.  
"You poor man." The nurse said, cupping his chin. She clearly misinterpreted his shame for some other post-battle emotion.  
"Yes." The doctor said. "We'll leave you to your thoughts, Colonel."  
The nurse and doctor left, but the Krieger officer stayed. He'd taken his place back in the corner, sitting silently. Voltke knew what he was there for.  
"My regiment?"  
"Overrun and destroyed. Reinforcements are assembled and the name 202nd Death Korps Infantry Regiment lives on. There's some three thousand troops in a holding location."  
"They died well?"  
"The entire Ork advance was blunted and stalled. Your men were fighting atop your body when the Longreach Captain arrived to order the retreat. They fought out with the Grenadiers. About sixty or so. The Orks drove through the remains of the city a few days ago, our forces lost the last grip on the outer-suburbs earlier this morning. The Ork's numbers are immense and there's no word on where their reinforcements are coming from. Somewhere underground." The officer said.  
"My orders?" Voltke asked, eyes closed for the bright hospital lighting.  
"I haven't heard. A Colonel in the mess said you weren't getting the 202nd back, though."  
Voltke sighed at that thought. Perhaps High Command didn't trust Voltke with a regiment now that he hadn't even had the decency to die with it.  
"Very well." Voltke said, resigned to imagining life as the kind of officer others looked at when he entered the room. The kind that they'd tell this one story about. "There goes Voltke, the shameful Colonel."  
"Good luck, sir." The officer said, standing up and leaving the room.

Voltke donned his new uniform in front of his bathroom mirror. After a week in hospital he was ready for war. Though he didn't know if he'd ever see one again. He pulled his breastplate over his head and strapped it up tightly. It wasn't as fine as his old one, but that didn't bother him. Next he drew his red sash over his right shoulder and pulled it tight against his breastplate. Is was shiny and new. His greatcoat came on, it was snug. After a year or two of wear it would become looser and easier to move in. He looked at the gold braid and other embellishments. Over time, these too would lose their colouring. He strapped his new sabre to the left side of his belt and his laspistol to the right side. Lastly his rebreather and helmet. He looked at himself in the mirror for quite a while. Under this uniform he wasn't Colonel Voltke anymore. He was just a Death Korps colonel.  
Voltke signed out of the hospital and stepped outside. He didn't even know who to report to. He began walking aimlessly. He was in one of the many third-line bases on this world. With the fighting mostly contained to two locations, these bases were safe enough to have large civilian presences. This one was inundated with rest/relaxation spots. Everything from restaurants to beer halls. These bases were like small towns. Cafes and supermarkets. Hairdressers and tailors. Voltke walked down the street and observed them all, returning the salutes of the scores of laughing, excited men who came past. They were from scores of different worlds and he didn't recognise many of their uniforms. But the all recognised his. He drew long glances from the guardsmen. Their sergeants would give him an appreciative nod as they came past saluting. To these men he was still a legendary figure. A Death Korps colonel.  
There were Death Korps guardsmen too. A group of them sitting outside a beer hall. None of them were drinking. They swapped the occasional word, but otherwise somber stared off into the street.  
Voltke saw a wooden sign with the words "Officer's Mess" on it. He headed towards it and watched a couple of officers enter ahead of him. It was the biggest building around and probably one of the first to be constructed when the camp was built. The mess was always busy. It wasn't just a dining facility, it was a social hub for all the officers to congregate to. This was where personal relations were made and maintained. Where careers builders would go around handshaking anybody they could find, anybody who was useful on their way up the ladder. Kriegers scoffed at those men, quietly sharing a glance or two as one of the bootlickers came over to try and make an attempt at breaking into the closed circle of Death Korps officers. It was rare that non-Kriegers were welcome at a Death Korps table.  
Voltke entered and the mess was bustling as expected. There were a dozen or more tables with about 20 chairs at each through the middle of the room. Along the right side of the room were leather couches and chairs around coffee tables; where quiet conversations or drinks could be had. On the left was a long bar, with many officers sitting on the tall stools; some with paperwork and files in front of them. Some with many empty glasses.

Voltke spotted the Krieger table. He headed towards it.  
"Colonel Voltke." Said an officer as he approached. Voltke knew him. The Colonel Gushel of the 440th Death Korps Siege Regiment.  
"Colonel Gushel." Voltke replied, shaking the man's hand. There was some stiffness at the table at the sound of Voltke's name. Voltke had expected that. Embarrassment for him.  
Voltke was introduced to some of the other officers. At this side of the table was nobody less than a Major. The lower ranks respectfully sat closer to the noisy bar to give their superiors the quieter side of the room. Voltke thanked the officers for the sabre they had purchased for him, before a major gave up his seat so Voltke could sit with his fellow colonels. They had their helmets and rebreathers on the table in front of them. Pale but grizzled faces looked upon him.  
"How are your injuries, Colonel?" Somebody asked.  
"Many broken ribs. Much grenade shrapnel that needed to be removed. But I'm fit and ready." Voltke replied.  
"Who is in command of the Death Korps Regiments?" Voltke asked.  
There was no easy answer for that question apparently. All the regiments were broken up across many different armies. Nobody knew exactly whose command Voltke fell under now.  
"Voltke, I don't think you're getting the 202nd back." One colonel said apologetically.  
Voltke paused. It was an awful thing to be so publically shamed. Whoever had decided to take his regiment away was essentially saying he was incapable as a colonel. Incapable of command.  
"So I heard." Voltke replied. "Though I'd like to receive the news officially, in writing."  
Voltke needed the order in writing because until he had it, he was the commander of the 202nd by law. If he was going to lose his command he wanted it sooner than later.  
"I've heard they need commanders in the sulfur deserts." Another colonel said. "Your record is good, Voltke... Bad luck aside, you've had a fair career."  
It was generous of the man to try to give Voltke hope, but Voltke didn't want to hope.  
There was some discussion of the war. The colonel's didn't have enough of a strategic view to know exactly what was going on. It seemed like the Orks in the city had been contained and they didn't wish to attempt a breakout. They were content with holding their urban fortress. Just as the Orks on the other content were content with holding their own desert fortress of bunkers, barbed wire and trenches. The Orks were hunkering down for the long war. The long campaign. The siege. And there wasn't anybody better at siege warfare than the Death Korps. The slow grind. The hard nights.  
Voltke spoke a little. Even for a Krieger he was quiet. They ate at dinner time and most of the officers had work to do so were headed back to their lodgings with a goodbye and goodluck here and there. Sterling had no orders still, so made his way over to the comfortable leather couches at the side of the room. He took a seat and closed his eyes, listening to the laughing of officers in the couches next to him. He wondered how to Then his brooding was interrupted.

"Sir!"

Sterling was standing in front of him.  
"How's your war, sir?"  
Sterling. The man who had pulled Voltke from the grips of death. After decades of war. Decades of service. When it had finally been Voltke's time; _this_ man, some junior officer from a rural world of farmers and shopkeepers had stolen Voltke's honour. The disgrace of it. And now here he was. Voltke considered shooting the man on the spot. Kriegers would understand. But no, he couldn't. The man had just done his duty as best as he understood it. It had been his duty to save his commander and order the retreat.  
"I hoped you'd have recovered sir, good to see you up and about."  
It occurred to Voltke that Sterling was quite clueless as to the the offence he had done to Voltke's entire life and career.  
"May I sit, sir?" Sterling asked.  
Voltke nodded.  
Sterling sat. He was in a clean and well pressed uniform. No armour, no lasgun. Just a pistol at his side.  
"It was quite a fight in the city, sir. When we lost communications with you I decided to break my company back and peel across to you for new orders. I had the impression it was high-time for a retreat: we were all virtually overrun. When I arrived you had some men holding up in a house, fighting hard. I had the men grab your body and start pulling out. Not many of your men made it, unfortunately." Sterling explained.  
"I heard as much." Voltke replied quietly.  
Voltke couldn't hold a grudge against the man. The Krieger ways were strange and alien to these other-worlders. Voltke might have more in common with the Orks, who are bred for war, than men like Voltke. But in a sense Voltke did respect Sterling. He had identified Sterling and his men as great soldiers… in their own way. And there was a changed Sterling in front of him, Voltke thought. Perhaps that final battle had shifted something inside him. The man seemed more tired and less excited than he had been in the city.

"How do you feel about losing the city, Colonel?" Sterling asked.  
"I don't feel anything about it." Voltke replied flatly.  
"You're a Krieger. Shouldn't you be furious at any sign of Imperial defeat?"  
"We're at war on a million worlds as we speak. We'll lose a battle here and there." Voltke replied.  
"I've never heard of a Krieger officer taking defeat in his stride like that." Sterling said with eyebrows raised.  
"What should I say? Sometimes it doesn't work out. Those are the stakes." Voltke said. Then he sensed Sterling wanted a further explanation. Voltke shrugged slightly and went on. "Even a smart gambler who wins in the long run knows he'll lose a bet here and there. As a soldier you're a gambler. Want to play the percentages, take the small wins? Fine. Want to take a gamble? Fine. But gamblers don't complain when it doesn't work out."  
"We gambled in an attempt to hold the line and cover another army's retreat. In the end it failed and both armies were virtually annihilated." Sterling said.  
"Those are the stakes." Voltke repeated. "If that line was made up of an army of Death Korps regiments we'd have likely held. My regiment was spread thin. Your Longreach regiments didn't do their part."  
Sterling was taken aback by that.  
"Sir, you insult my whole world."

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry? This is a war. You can hardly have a war without hurting somebody's feelings." Voltke replied.  
Sterling looked away at that comment, then changed the subject.  
"I looked you up, Colonel. You have a Macharian Cross. A Triple-Cross, too. Many campaign medals. You might be the highest decorated officer in this room." Sterling said.  
"Trinkets, that's all."  
"Why don't you wear them? It shows you've done your duty."  
"I haven't done my duty."  
"You do your duty every day you're in that uniform, sir." Sterling remarked.  
"I do my duty in one day. In death." Voltke said cooly.  
"You see a hard world, Colonel."  
"Because it is hard. What do you see, Captain?"  
"I see... the _light of the Imperium.._." Came the slow reply. "I see the civilisation that we're rebuilding. For the Emperor, for the imperium, for you and me."  
"No you don't." Voltke replied. He let out a rare smirk.  
"I don't?" Sterling asked.  
"You don't care about the Imperium. It's too big. You care about you. In this war. You care about the battle. The smell of it. The taste. The touch. And more than anything, the sound. You won't be able to sleep without the sound of war before long." Voltke said.  
Sterling paused.  
"I'm not like a Krieger. I do my duty, I fight when ordered. And yes, I go to battle, I think about it every day. I can taste it, yes. But one day this will be over. And I'll have done my duty." Sterling said, a hint of apprehension in his voice. But Voltke knew the truth. Men like Sterling might resist the idea. The truth was that he'd never leave this life. He'd never go home.  
"It has you now. I can feel it." Voltke said, thinking about the change in Sterling since the battling in the city. "Have you ever seen a perfect column of guardsmen march onto the parade ground? Have you seen them march to war? There's nothing like it. It's inspiring. Stirring, even for me. You're in it now. It's magnificent, isn't it? Men with a war to fight. All your problems pale before it. You have no problems. Only war. Just like the rest of us. It's a weight off your shoulders. All you need to carry is a lasgun; and they're not heavy." Voltke paused and leaned in close to Sterling, another small smirk on his face. He spoke quietly now.  
"I could send you home you know. I could order it. You'd sit there, day after day, wishing you were back here. Those people back home can feel it too. They know what we have. They love us for it. And hate us. This is your wife now. It'll nag at you. You'll tell it your secrets. You'll think about it at night. You'll wake up with it. You'll yell and scream at it. But in the end you'll kiss and makeup. It has you now. I can feel it."  
Sterling sat back in his chair, looking at Voltke. Voltke stood up. He'd go and report to the camp commandant and request orders.  
"Good luck, Captain. Have a good war." 


	12. Chapter 12

The Commandant had directed Voltke to General Alisa's HQ. The Commandant had no information on the 202nd Regiment and no time to help Voltke otherwise. So Voltke made his way to Alisa's HQ. He made his way slowly. He had been wounded before, but there was no way to grow used to it. It was uncomfortable and painful to have your mobility so restricted by broken ribs and have your skin torn and sore by shrapnel. General Alisa had replaced General Hikes, Voltke's previous commander who had died in the city. It seemed nearly everybody of importance had, except for Voltke.  
"I'm Colonel Voltke to see General Alisa." Voltke said to the busy clerk at the front desk. The clerk wasn't even looking up, his nose was buried in some documents, with more under his arm.  
"Oh, sir!" The clerk said, jumping to attention. "Please take a seat, I'll let the general know."  
The clerk dropped his papers and rushed out of the front office. A pair of adjutants entered the HQ, neither of which recognised Voltke, but noticed his gold epaulettes and saluted.  
"Sir." They said with curt nods before disappearing into the HQ.  
The clerk reentered and brought Voltke through. The main room of the HQ was enormous and packed with desks and a lot of manpower. Dozens of officers were at work, with their clerks and secretaries rushing around the big hall. It was noisy and bustling. It required a great deal of planning and organisation to run an army made up of multiple regiments. Though with most of the regiments presumably lost in the city, Voltke wasn't sure why so many men and so much business was present. He suspected reinforcements and new orders were incoming.  
"This way sir." The clerk led the way for Voltke down a side hall. They passed several offices, with a glance into some open ones Voltke caught sight of some colonels.  
The clerk opened a door at the end of the hall and brought Voltke into a big corner office with large open windows and a heavy oak desk. Behind the desk was a small man, spectacles perched on his nose, hair greying, round stomach and face crinkled with age.  
"Colonel!" Greeted the general, coming to his feet.  
"Sir." Voltke replied, coming to attention at the desk, then grasping the general's outstretched hand.  
"Wonderful to meet you, Voltke. Glad that you're on the road to recovery." The general said with seemingly genuine fondness.  
"Thank you, sir."  
"How are the wounds?" He asked.  
"As you said, sir. On the road to recovery. But I'm fit for duty. Nothing a medic couldn't attend to." Voltke said the words, hoping against hope that this meeting wouldn't end with anything less than Voltke getting his 202nd Regiment back. The dishonour of a lack of command for a Krieger officer was unbearable.  
"Good, good. Quite a scrap in the city, I'd understand if you took a little longer in the hospital. But then again, you're not my first Krieger colonel!" The general said with a light hearted laugh.  
"Yes, sir." Said Voltke.  
The general sat down and gestured for Voltke to do the same. He smiled over the desk.  
"I suppose you're wondering what we've got in store for the Orks?" The general asked.  
"Certainly, sir." Voltke replied.  
"Well we've encircled them again. My army is somewhat ragtag for the moment. A few depleted Longreach regiments. And several hodge podge regiments from here and there… But I'm getting reinforcements." The general paused. "Half a Death Korps army, fresh off the transports! Six regiments. And three more coming from the sulfur deserts, all siege regiments."  
"Very good, sir. They'll perform well, I can assure you." Voltke said.  
"Can you now?" The general shot back.  
"Yes sir, Krieger regiments always do." Voltke said.  
"Well how about a more personal guarantee?" The general said with a smile.  
"Sir?" Voltke replied, not sure what was being asked.  
"I hate to inform you of this, but the 202nd is being broken up and the men are being used as reinforcements across the entire theatre."  
"Oh." Voltke said. That was it then. His regiment was destroyed and his command lost.  
"But don't fret, Voltke. One of the regiments coming from the sulfur desert has no commander. I was going to promote the second in command, but then a young Longreach captain arrived with a Krieger colonel on his back after a flight out of the city." The general said, a smile creeping onto his old face.

"You're getting the 440th Death Korps Siege Regiment. Congratulations." The general said.  
"Thank you, sir." Voltke said, relief washing over him. He was still dishonoured in his brother Krieger's eyes. But these other-worlders didn't see it that way. To survive a battle was something to be proud of. Even now the general was smiling, knowingly talking to a disgraced man.  
"It's a big regiment. All the Death Korps regiments are big. 25,000 troops. And artillery! My word, the artillery you'll have at your disposal. We'll dislodge the Orks in an hour!"  
It was true. The artillery capability of a Siege Regiment was immense. Medusa's, Earthshakers and Bombards would disintegrate the Ork defences.  
"Of the newly arrived regiments, two are Death Korps Armoured Regiments. So I'll be able to exploit breakthroughs and push through any gaps at speed. We have armour, artillery and more infantry that I've ever had at my command before. I'm expecting a fast campaign."  
"Very good, sir." Voltke said.  
If the general was a Krieger it was likely that Voltke would never command again. But fortunately for Voltke, that was not the case. Voltke relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair, prepared to listen to the rest of the general's brief.


	13. Chapter 13

==Intelligence Update: Battle for Tsaritsyn==

After four months of hard fighting against an Ork battlegroup in the city of Tsaritsyn, Imperial forces under General Hikes were defeated. Initial attacks into the city were stalled by the few in number, but unusually motivated Ork defenders. The Orks had been given several months to organise their defences before the Imperial Army arrived and began its attack, leading to a bloody campaign.  
The Orks concealed the larger part of their forces within the transport tunnels underneath the central city district, while drawing the Imperial Army deeper into the city. The resulting counter-attack threw the Imperial army back in disarray. After a brief attempt to cling to the city's outer-limits, General Hikes was finally defeated decisively several days later after the Orks broke through his line in several locations.  
Intelligence Assessment: The counter-attack was organised and disciplined by Ork standards and was likely rehearsed prior to Imperial arrival on the world. The Ork's battle plan showed an unusual level of creativity unseen in the region in recent fighting. It is likely that the current Ork commander of the Tsaritsyn defenses is a relatively experienced warlord with above-average intelligence.

==End of Signal==

Colonel Voltke stood on the step of his Centaur armoured vehicle on the side of the road, watching his regiment on their slow drive past. Voltke would watch every single man and vehicle under his command go by today. It would take more than 10 hours, he knew. The troops were in no rush. They had three days to march to the assembly area on the outskirts of the city and would easily make it at this comfortable pace. His infantry stomped past in parade-level order. Clean, organised and fresh, despite having briefly participated in the siege on the other side of the world. They were rested and ready. His vehicles came through too, with their engines roaring and exhaust fumes spilling into the air, but there was little sign of battle on their armour.  
Voltke had pulled his whole HQ over so that they could all watch the procession. His HQ was enormous, as one would expect of such a large regiment. 840 staff-officers and clerks doing everything from analysing intelligence gained on the battlefield to ordering spare socks. The lead elements of the HQ were all mounted in Chimera and Centaur APCs. Voltke's own Centaur had been modified in years past to be a self-contained office: A desk bolted into the hull for him to sit at and work even while in motion. His five man command squad which provided him a kind of protective detail were subsequently significantly more squashed together.  
Thousands of infantry marched past, with hundreds of Centaur APCs carrying Company HQs, heavy weapons and so on. Voltke had 18 Line Companies at his command. Some 13,500 infantrymen with each company equipped with mortars, lascannons, heavy bolters and stubbers, autocannons and more. In addition to his 18 Line Companies, Voltke had 3 Heavy Companies, each with a much weightier footprint than the Line Companies. Each Heavy Company was composed entirely of Heavy Weapons Platoons: Three anti-tank platoons, three fire-support platoons and a heavy mortar platoon.  
Following the Line and Heavy Companies was the Assault Company. A full company of Grenadiers. These would be the men providing the main thrust of all Voltke's attacks. As their numbers dwindled he would draw reinforcements from the experience troops in the Line Companies to refill the ranks of the Assault Company. In most campaigns Voltke had seen, the casualty rate of the Assault Company in a long war would be well over 200%. They were identified by their heavier than usual armour and rebreathers fashioned to appear as skulls. They were after all, considered dead men when they were assigned to a grenadier unit.  
The uniforms of this regiment were a dark forest green, whereas Voltke's last regiment had been clad in mostly dark grey. The green would stand out in the urban fighting, but Voltke didn't expect it to cost him men. Most of the fighting was close quarters where no camouflage would help. The men were still wearing their day packs with their sleeping rolls strapped to the outside. The packs were brown leather, containing food, water and basic supplies to get the men through three days of fighting. A protracted firefight would require ammunition resupply even hour or even less.  
After the infantry marched past, then came the heavy support. Three full artillery batteries. The first was the 1st Field Gun Battery, equipped with nine Medusa Field Guns and an artillery observer platoon. Then the 2nd Field Gun Battery, with nine hardy Earthshaker guns. Finally came Voltke's favourite artillery guns under the 1st Heavy Gun Battery: the Bombards. Mounted on a Leman Russ chassis, the Bombards were the heaviest artillery at the Death Korp's disposal. And Voltke had a full battery of nine. These would blow the Orks out of the city, Voltke thought with an approving eye.  
After the artillery the three armoured squadrons came. This was the first time Voltke had personally been in command of armoured squadrons and he was pleased with the addition. Three armoured squadrons with nine Leman Russ tanks in each, plus an extra Leman Russ for each squadron's HQ: 30 tanks in total, nine of which were demolisher variants, capable of obliterating buildings and defensive works. Armour would provide Voltke with the rock solid base to pivot his infantry off. These assets all came together to create one of the most capable regiments on the world.  
Finally the Support Company. Supply vehicles, recovery vehicles, transport vehicles, everything that a regiment needed was being brought up on the road. Voltke had 18 enormous Gorgon APCs. They were currently transporting supplies up to the assembly area, but later would be used mostly to ferry his Assault Company around to exploit weaknesses in the Ork line.  
The men saluted him as they drove or marched past. It reminded Voltke of the parades back on his home world, where the troops would march past their commanders on inspection days. This was Voltke's inspection. They saw him and he saw them.  
In the upcoming battle Voltke would be unable to be everywhere at once. His sub commanders would need to understand and interpret his orders quickly and correctly in the next few weeks. Voltke wanted to see all these men and all these vehicles before he took them into battle. For him, much of the war would be played out over a map. Much of the war would be played out over the Voxnet. Much of the fighting would be done without much of his control at all. It would be quick. Voltke knew that. Something would be happening at every moment of every day. But progress would be slow nonetheless. He might take ground in one quarter and lose it in another. The other regiments of the army would face their own problems. Much of this war was out of his hands, despite the power he held.  
Voltke's second in command, Major Anders, approached him from another Centaur as the final vehicles of the Support Company came through.  
"Sir." Anders said with a salute.  
"Major." Voltke replied. "It was a fine turnout. You didn't take much damage in the sulfur deserts?" Voltke remarked. The vehicles and men were all in excellent condition.  
"Barely a scratch." Anders replied, adjusting his sabre as he spoke. "We were being used as reserves until four weeks ago. We took the front line from an other-world regiment, but the line was quiet and we were to hold ground. Apart from the artillery, we hardly fired a shot."  
"And your old commander?" Voltke inquired. He wondered how the previous colonel had managed to fall.  
"Lung pierced by a loose piece of shrapnel." Major Anders replied. He drew a pocket book out of his greatcoat and presented it to Voltke.  
"This was his." Anders said with finality.  
Voltke took the book and turned it over. It was the Death Korps staff officer's manual. Inside was a collection of duties and lessons for an officer. Every Death Korps officer received one upon reaching the rank of Major.  
"Thank you, Major." Voltke said.  
Death Korps soldiers were a strange breed. Living so close to death left them a morbid people. Voltke held the pocket book in his hand. For some reason Anders felt like giving it to Voltke was important. Voltke understood. He had lost… friends…. too. In a way. His last second-in-command, Major Fische had fallen in battle and Voltke had felt a sense of loss. He had lost so many that his memory for names was getting worse and worse. Names weren't particularly important to Death Korps soldiers to begin with. Every man was interchangeable; in a way that made for great soldiers. But Voltke cast his mind back to the Longreach Grenadiers of Captain Sterling. They were smooth and fluid, not rigid and heavy footed like Voltke's men. And the creative attack of Sterling materialised from a significantly different thought process than Voltke's. Voltke had been fixated on holding the line. Sterling had looked for other options. Of course Voltke believed in aggressive patrolling. But a lightning attack with a full company had not even presented itself as an option for him. Death Korps soldiers may be great. But they were not masters of all wars. There was still more to learn, Voltke concluded.  
Major Anders watched the last few supply vehicles rumble past.  
"Once more into battle." Voltke said to him, climbing into his Centaur. "Ride with me."  
The driver pulled back onto the road and followed the tail end of the regiment. The rest of the HQ followed. Voltke rolled open the map on his desk and ran his finger around the city.  
"The city is surrounded by half a dozen regiments, postured to turn back any breakout attempt. But the Orks aren't going to break out. They're holding their ground and preparing for the long war." Voltke said.  
"A siege." Anders replied knowingly. "The city is the fortress. They've already won the first battle for it. They'll be confident."  
"I've been beaten here before. Not again." Voltke said.  
"Their survival is an insult to the Emperor." Anders replied, his voice was hard even through his rebreather.  
"No price is too high." Said Voltke with a chilly decisiveness.  
Voltke looked at the men of his command squad. They were standing at the sides of the Centaur, lasguns pointed out in the open topped vehicle. One man manning the Heavy Stubber. They were hardy men. Professional soldiers. Born and bred for war in the depths of Krieg, these men were nothing when not amid battle.  
"Loyalty, aggression and sacrifice." Voltke said, summarising what he saw in the men.  
It was an interesting idea that Krieger officers were not so much concerned with victory. Victory for the Emperor was important, yes. But more important was the idea that a Krieger didn't fail. Didn't lose. Avoiding failure was the ultimate goal of every Death Korps soldier; from the lowest ranking guardsman to the highest ranking officer. If one could not achieve victory, then death in the face of duty was the next desirable result. This was the reason Voltke's survival as his 202nd regiment was overrun was of such a dishonourable nature. He had failed on a grand scale and lived to tell the tale. He was not accountable for the defeat, no. The loss was an army-wide failure and no action of his could realistically halt the tide of Orks pitted against him. But victory and failure was irrelevant for the Death Korps. It was the intent, the resolve and the sacrifice.  
 _The Death Korps dies, it does not fail_.  
Voltke's assembly point was behind the containment line of other Imperial regiments. He would form his troops up into battle formation, with other Death Korps regiments either side doing the same. Three days from now, the entire army group would advance rapidly in the darkness and strike into the outer-suburbs of the city. Early intelligence reports suggested that the Orks had little defences in the outer, less dense suburbs. Their preferred terrain was the close and complex areas of the interior city. But much of the outer-suburbs would be booby trapped: bombs, IEDs and sharp shooters would attempt to harry the Imperial advance. It was hoped that the attack would come as a surprise to the Orks and a foothold in the city would be claimed. The Imperium gathering such a strong host to retake the city so rapidly after their previous defeat was testament to the unparalleled power of the Emperor.  
Voltke spoke of this to Major Anders, who nodded his agreement. They were both relieved to be getting back onto the line. Voltke sensed it. In fact the whole regiment had felt restless while preparing for the march. Squads set themselves up, tidying up their gear for the upcoming campaign. Spotless lasguns were stripped and re-cleaned. Uniforms were scrubbed, boots polished and gear was rubbed clean. The men knew that in the upcoming battle they would be covered in filth after a week of fighting. Their weapons would be their lifeline. They might not get much opportunity to maintain their own high standards while in the city. So they took it upon themselves to prepare as any disciplined troops do.  
The men were covered in medals. Usually most Death Korps regiments frowned upon troops wearing medals: individuality was not a sought after trait in a soldier. But General Alisa, the commander of the army, had ordered all honours and awards to be worn for morale reasons. Voltke's 404th Regiment was filled with veterans. Campaign medals and Triple Skulls were worn by the majority of the rank and file. Several Medallion Crimson's had caught Voltke's eye also: awarded to men with apparently mortal wounds who did their duty nonetheless. One company of Grenadiers also held the sub-unit citation medal, the Valiant Combat Medal: awarded based on excellent performance by a unit in combat. There were more, too. Some Voltke didn't recognise from theatres or campaigns he hadn't served in.  
Voltke glanced at the medals pinned to his own greatcoat. Four campaign medals. A Triple Cross. A Service of Merit Medal. But greatest in his possession was the rare Macharian Cross: awarded for successful and intelligent command. For a non-Krieger this cross might signal an intent for the High Command to promote you to general and give you an army group. But for a Krieger the award was usually far more ceremonial. High Command was loath to give Krieger officers army groups to command.  
As the Centaur chugged its way ahead Voltke looked again at the men in his command squad. Their forest green uniforms and dark leather pouches and belts were contrasted by his own dark maroon great coat with glittering golden epaulettes, buffed and shining breastplate and beautiful sabre. There would be no mistaking him on the battlefield. By his own men or the enemy. 


End file.
